The Perfect Angel
by Yunagirlamy
Summary: Christine and Raoul have been married for four years and have a three-year-old son. It is five years after the events at the opera house. But those events come knocking on Christine’s door in the form of a teenage girl. Who is she?
1. The Girl with the Mask

**Author's Notes: Like, oh my god! My first Phantom phic. How **_**exciting**_** is **_**this**_**?! Okay, I'm gonna come out of fangirl mode… NOW. Right, first thing I wish to say: this story will include absolutely NO French whatsoever. This is an English story and will contain only English words and no foreign ones. The only French will be "Opera Populaire". I **_**will**_** translate this, however, into French—and into German, since my Dad says there's probably a lot of Germans on . Besides, it's always nice to get more readers. Second thing: this is NOT, I repeat, **_**NOT**_**, film based. So do not imagine Gerald Butler and Emmy Rossum as Erik and Christine—but imagine Michael Crawford and Sarah Brightman. Because those roles just belong to them and no one else. Seriously. No one can pull off those roles better than they can. And don't argue with me because you KNOW it's the Godamn truth. Also, the chandelier didn't crash at the end in the musical but at the end of Act 1. So there. NYAH.**

**Summary: Christine and Raoul have been married for four years and have a three-year-old son. It is five years after the events at the opera house. But those events come knocking on Christine's door in the form of a teenage girl. Who is she and what link does she have to the past?**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and this storyline.**

**-- is a scene change or a different point of view.**

**Prologue: The Girl with the Mask.**

The doors of the Opera Populaire opened and a girl, looking to be in her twilight years, came out. She wore a plain white dress that showed off her figure, and puffed out slightly at the waist. Around her shoulders sat a black cape. She wore white heels on her feet.

The girl looked up at the sky and smiled. The sky was a light grey as little drops of snow were falling onto the streets of Paris. The girl always loved it when it snowed and always thought it to be the most beautiful of weather. Then remembering her mission, she looked down to the white mask that she held in her hands. She was an easily distracted girl, so she brought it along to remind her of what she needed to do.

She walked down the steps and into the bustling streets of Paris. She needed to go to the outskirts of the city and she _definitely_ was _not_ walking there. She had some money off her father – which he didn't know of – in hopes of paying for a carriage. Walking would simply take too long—and not to mention that her feet would be complaining at the end of it all. Besides, if she _did_ walk there, her father would surely notice that she was gone. In fact, she wouldn't be surprised if he'd already noticed and was pursuing after her.

But then again—he wouldn't _dare_ venture outside.

This thought entering her mind and staying firmly there, she continued her currently unsuccessful task of finding a carriage.

She walked down a long street, her heels already causing slight discomfort. She really _should_ have listened to her father when he advised against buying heels of any kind. However, that made her wonder; had her father been so adventurous as to try on heels? She stopped for a moment and pondered more on this thought. Would her father _really_ wear heels? Would her father kill her for just _thinking_ it?

So many questions—but so little time.

Her green eyes finally landed on a vacant carriage. She knew it was vacant because the carriage driver was standing by his horses, waiting for anyone to come. The girl smiled and hurriedly ran over to the man. He seemed surprised to see her, but quickly got over it and flashed her a smile, revealing pearly white teeth.

"What can I do for you, young Miss?"

"I need you to take me to Miss Daaé's house, please Sir," the girl answered, showing a bag of money. "Do you know where that is?"

"On the outskirts of Paris. Am I right, Miss?"

The girl nodded and shoved the bag of money into the man's hand. He opened the carriage door for her, and shut it when she climbed inside and sat down. The man climbed up to his seat behind the horses and grabbed the reins.

The girl kept her eyes on the Opera Populaire until it was no longer in view. This was the first time in four years since she had last been outside. The reason why it had taken her four years to come back outside? The last time she did, she received _quite_ a scolding off her father and was forbidden from exploring the opera house for two weeks. She _loved_ to explore the opera house and did not want that privilege to be taken away from her—_again_.

However, she _was_ only a child when she came outside four years ago. Maybe now that she was a mature and responsible _woman_ (something she stressed regularly to her father but he refused to believe it), her father would trust her. On the other hand… her father's trust was quite hard to gain. It would be impossible to gain her father's trust in the short time of four years.

She looked down at the mask she held, and ran her hand over it smoothly.

'_I hope this works. I really do…'_

**--**

**END OF PROLOGUE.**

**Prologues are **_**supposed**_** to be short, do stop complaining like I know you are (I've been reading stories on this website for two years now so that's how I know). Anyway. Just remember, this is my own personal sequel to **_**The Phantom of the Opera**_**. So, I've set the scene here: it's five years after the event of the musical; a young girl is off to find Miss Christine Daaé; and she has green eyes. I think you should be able to guess who the girl's father is. I've made it so obvious without actually telling you. **

**Yunagirlamy, 23.9.09.**


	2. Mrs Christine de Chagney

**Author's Notes: I know. Something I've never done before. Hey, I can smell chips. Anyway… if you sorta know me (I don't mean necessarily in real life), you'll know that it normally takes me _ages_ to post a new chapter. But I'm really enthusiastic with this story, so I've gone ahead and done this. Yay for me! So, I hope everyone enjoyed the prologue BUT the name of the girl (and I'm sure you've all figured out who her dad is, as mine did) shall not be revealed yet. Only her surname shall be. Because I'm evil like that. And because I'm lazy and can't attempt to come up with a last name of my own, I'm going to use the surname from _The Phantom of Manhattan_. Because I actually quite like that one to the others. I mean—_Destler_? What kind of surname is _that_?**

** Summary: Christine and Raoul have been married for four years and have a three-year-old son. It is five years after the events at the opera house. But those events come knocking on Christine's door in the form of a teenage girl. Who is she and what link does she have to the past?**

** Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and this storyline.**

** -- is a scene change or a different point of view.**

**Chapter One: Mrs Christine de Chagney.**

** --**

Christine stood at a window, looking at the gorgeous weather. Snow always brought a smile to her face. Whenever it was snowing, she always remembered all her wonderful memories. She always remembered that it was snowing when she gave birth to her and Raoul's (now three-years of age) son. It was snowing when she officially became Christine de Chagney. In her heart, she would always be Christine Daaé—but how _wonderful_ it felt to be introduced as "Mrs Christine de Chagney". Not did it only show that she was married—but it shown that she was married to the most beautiful and caring man on the entire Earth.

She remembered to thank the Lord everyday for allowing her as to be so lucky; not only for a precious child, but for her husband.

As she was busy glancing out the window, Christine did not notice Raoul walk up behind her. She only became aware of his presence when he lovingly wrapped his arms her waist. Christine, however, did not jump or scream in fright. She instead placed her right hand on his face. This was a new habit for them. It was why Christine was not surprised.

"Is something bothering you, my love? You seem not yourself today," Raoul questioned, his voice completely full of concern. He loved Christine more than life itself—there was no doubting that.

"No. There is nothing, Raoul. You needn't be so concerned." Christine's voice held a cheerful tone to it; which was how Raoul was able to tell that she was indeed telling the truth. He would never disbelieve her anyway. It was all honesty in this marriage. Both had sworn to it when sharing vows.

"I can't help but be concerned about you, Little Lotte," Raoul replied, using Christine's nickname, "After all, what sort of husband would I be?"

Christine laughed softly and pecked his left cheek. "One that wasn't so protective of me."

"You know I have perfectly good reasons, Christine," Raoul remarked.

"Yes, I know. I don't blame you."

Raoul smiled and went to kiss his wife when a maid came walking in, looking quite distressed.

"Miss Christine, there is a young girl waiting for you in the sitting room. She says it's quite urgent that you see her. I'm sorry to disturb you."

Christine smiled at the maid. "It's no bother at all. My husband and I will attend to the girl. You are dismissed."

The maid bowed. "Thank you, Mistress."

Christine gently took Raoul's arms from around her and turned round to face him. "Shall we? The sooner we see her, the sooner we can spend some private time together."

"I look quite forward to that time."

Christine took her husband's hand and led him to the sitting room. Once they entered, they saw a girl with brown hair that was loosely curled in ringlets. She wore a black cape (that was covered in little bits of snow) that travelled all the way down her back, stopping just before her feet. On her feet, she wore white heels (which looked as if they were causing discomfort as the girl was shifting constantly) and she was looking out the window, like Christine was not a few minutes ago.

The couple stepped into the middle of the room and the girl instantly turned. She had a smirk on her face but that soon faded into a frown as her green eyes landed on Raoul. She looked to the floor and cleared her throat. When she looked back up, she had a (clearly forced) smile on her face.

"Good morning, Miss Daaé and _please_—do not attempt to correct me on your surname. I am Miss Muhlheim and I am here to hopefully take you back with me to the Opera Populaire."

At the very mention of that opera house, Christine's eyes widened. "Well, I'm afraid you came all this way for nothing. I am never going back there."

"Oh, I thought you might say that. That is why I bought this item along with me." It was only then, as the girl lifted it to the level of her eyes, that Christine noticed the familiar half white mask. That mask… it brought back so many terrible memories. Memories of… _the Phantom of the opera_.

"May I please ask who you are and what you are doing here?" Raoul asked the question, as Christine was rendered speechless upon seeing the mask.

"I informed you with that information already, Viscount. Or were you not listening?" Miss Muhlheim questioned. "I know what you're thinking Miss Daaé—but I need you to help me. He has not been his usual self for the past five years. I was hoping I could cure that by bringing you back to him, Miss Daaé."

"And what were you I hoping I would _do_?!" Christine snapped, "_Marry him_?!"

"No, not at all, Miss Daaé."

"He's sent you, hasn't he?" Raoul asked, in a much calmer tone then that of his wife's. Miss Muhlheim sighed and placed a hand to her head.

"He doesn't know I'm here. But it does not matter. I can see I wasted my time coming here." She walked round the couple and out the door. "I'm sorry to have disturbed your happy, _family_ life."

Christine waited until the girl was gone for sure, and sat down on a chair. "Oh Raoul, what are we going to do? She surely has some connection with Erik—"

"Who's Erik?"

"It's his name…" Christine replied, burying her head in her hands—she was clearly distraught.

"I would have never thought that monster has a name."

"Yes well… he _does_. And he's coming back to haunt me—in the form of his _daughter_!" Christine was surprised that he had a daughter—assuming of course, that the girl _was_ his daughter.

"My love, we don't know the full details yet. She could be anyone."

"You're right." Christine sighed, bringing her head up. "Maybe I should go with her, Raoul…"

"I thought you said you were never going back there," Raoul commented. He was not too impressed with the idea of Christine going back to the Opera Populaire with someone who could be related to that _monster_.

"But she said she needed help. And if Erik is her father—then I can't let him stay heartbroken over me." Christine stood up. "I _must_ do this." Raoul sighed and took Christine's hands in his own.

"You are the most caring person I have ever known, Christine. Even though you're afraid of going back, you'll do it to help a girl you've only just met."

"You won't be able to come, Raoul and I apologise for that—but I cannot have your life risked. I would have no husband and our son would have no father," Christine said, offering a warm smile to Raoul, "but I shall not be gone for very long. One week at the very least."

"Very well, my sweet. If you wish it, it shall be done."

--

"Young miss, I hope you are aware that I cannot stay here for much longer," the carriage driver announced to Miss Muhlheim sat in the carriage.

"Miss Daaé will be out soon. I am certain of it."

As soon as the words left her mouth, Miss Muhlheim heard a door being shut. She looked out the carriage and smiled in triumph. Christine was headed down the path, suitcase in hand, towards the carriage. The carriage driver stepped down onto the ground and kindly offered to take the suitcase off Christine and load it onto the carriage. Christine thoughtfully declined, declaring that the suitcase was not too heavy and only contained a small change of clothes.

The carriage driver said something to Christine and got back on the carriage. Miss Muhlheim opened the door for Christine and smiled.

"So I see you decided to come along after all, Miss Daaé."

"I would kindly appreciate it if you referred to me as Viscountess de Chagney," Christine said, clearly irritated at being called by her maiden name. She sighed as her house became further and further out of her eye vision.

"I'm sure you would, _Miss Daaé_," Miss Muhlheim retorted with a smirk.

"Are we going to be friends?"

"I very much doubt it, Miss Daaé. You broke _his_ heart, which in turn, made him into someone I do not recognise. He has hardly any time for me anymore," Miss Muhlheim answered. "He is also stricter with me. I cannot even step into my room without having to give an explanation as to why I am entering there."

Christine began to feel sorry for the girl. Because of her, the girl's life had been turned upside down.

"I apologise profusely—"

"I apologise also Miss Daaé—for apologies will not repair the damage."

Christine looked out the carriage window; she could not bear to look at the pain in the girl's eyes anymore.

"I know you cannot bear to look in my eyes, Miss Daaé. The pain has built up tremendously in the past five years," Miss Muhlheim stated. "I know only you can rid of it, Miss Daaé. In five years, I shall be a woman, and I need _him_ to guide me through those five years, to build me into a fine member of society."

Christine nodded, fully understanding. If it was her fault that this girl was being denied a proper up-bringing, then she would _definitely_ fix it.

"I trust you will fully help me, Miss Daaé?" Miss Muhlheim questioned.

Christine nodded and took the girl's hands in her own. Christine was surprised when the girl did not take her hands back. "Yes, I absolutely promise to do. Even though it pains me to be coming back here… I'll do it. Because I cannot deny you being raised properly." Christine _was_ surprised, however, when a smile broke out on Miss Muhlheim's face, and the young girl threw her arms around Christine's neck in delight.

"Oh, _thank_ you, Miss Daaé! I cannot begin to tell you how much this will mean to me!"

Christine only nodded and returned the hug.

She was delighted to be helping the girl, but deep down inside her; she hoped all this was not a trick.

A trick conjured up by _him_; just so he could see her again. After all, this girl could have just been a really good actress and then would disappear after bringing Christine to him.

All Christine could do was hope… and wait.

"Well, here we are Miss Daaé," Miss Muhlheim announced after breaking the hug. She opened the carriage door and lifted Christine's suitcase out. She helped Christine out and closed the carriage door. Christine looked up and slightly paled.

"The Opera Populaire…" she whispered.

"Welcome home, Miss Daaé. Don't worry, you'll be safe. No harm shall come to you. You shall not be married at the end of this all."

_'I certainly won't be…'_

**--**

**END OF CHAPTER ONE.**

**Wow. What the hell is wrong with me? I have never finished a chapter on the same day that I started it! Well, it hasn't been rushed, I can assure you that. I hope it is good enough for you to enjoy fully. I hope I can capture the spirit of the musical (now of course, I won't be having any songs whatsoever, because that is not allowed but there will be singing) and maybe the film as well. Who knows? Please review!**

**Yunagirlamy, 23.9.09.**


	3. Angel of Music

**Author's Notes: Erik enters in this chapter AND we shall find out just exactly who Miss Muhlheim is! Only we shall. Not Christine. Oh yeah—be prepared for a **_**long**_** chapter! Oh, and there's something I should explain. Since I have only ever seen the film (and tiny segments of the musical), whenever I describe the Opera Populaire, it shall be based off the film one. And some of it will be my own imagination. So both really. This chapter also has a nice little flashback, containing a moment between Erik and his daughter (oh come on, you all knew it).**

**Summary: Christine and Raoul have been married for four years and have a three-year-old son. It is five years after the events at the opera house. But those events come knocking on Christine's door in the form of a teenage girl. Who is she and what link does she have to the past?**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and this storyline.**

**-- is a scene change or a different point of view.**

**Chapter Two: Angel of Music.**

**--**

Christine gaped at the Opera Populaire. It felt as if _years_ had passed by since she last stepped foot in it—when of course, it had only been the short period of five years. She was both excited and scared to go back in. She was excited because she would _always_ love the Opera Populaire; scared because of _him_.

"Well, Miss Daaé," the girl said, causing Christine to abruptly close her mouth and look at the young girl, "is it exactly how you remember? Of course, it _has_ only been five years."

"It's… it's exactly how I remember it," Christine answered. "Does anyone own it?"

The young girl shook her head, her brown curls bouncing about. "No. No one _wants_ to buy it. However, there _have_ been rumours been floating about that two ladies are interested in buying it." Christine wondered who these two ladies were. If someone _did_ buy it, then she _might_ consider singing there again.

"Do you know who they are?"

"No. I wish I did. They _are_ only rumours, though, and I don't believe anything I hear on the street." The girl sighed softly and smiled. "Well Miss Daaé, shall we make our way in? We'll catch our death of cold standing out here all day."

Christine nodded, and headed up the stairs (with her suitcase), with the young girl following behind (who was still holding the white mask). As they reached the doors, the girl rushed in front of Christine and opened the doors for her.

"Thank you," Christine commented.

"You're welcome, Miss Daaé."

Christine entered and looked around. It still looked the same, with the majestic stairway. Christine thought it would have least become dusty over the last five years. Then Christine realised why it was still clean. It was still _his _opera, and he was not going to let it become filthy.

"He makes me clean it, Miss Daaé," the girl remarked, upon seeing Christine's expression. "I do not mind; simply because there is not a lot of entertainment in this place."

"I'm surprised there's _any_ entertainment left," Christine replied. The girl suddenly smirked in a mischievous way.

"Oh Miss Daaé—it's always entertaining to hide somewhere outside, and make people think they're crazy."

Christine laughed softly. The girl smiled, and Christine noticed that a smile suited the young girl, and made her look rather beautiful. Christine began to wonder who the girl's mother was and whether the girl knew her or not.

"I'm glad you're being entertained, Miss Daaé."

"Why do you keep saying my maiden name?" Christine enquired.

"Because, _Miss Daaé_, it is a constant reminder of who you are," the girl paused for a moment, "and I was raised to be polite."

"I don't need to be reminded of who I am," Christine replied, slightly puzzled.

Miss Muhlheim walked up the stairs, her heels echoing throughout the hall, and stopped five steps up. She turned to face Christine. "Oh, I should think you do, Miss Daaé," the girl retorted. "Anyway, we must not dawdle. He does not know that I left the opera house." Miss Muhlheim turned and walked further up the stairs. "Follow me, Miss Daaé."

Christine followed the girl, with one thing in her mind. "Do you have a first name?"

"Do you have a brain, Miss Daaé?" Miss Muhlheim questioned.

"Of course I do," Christine replied, taken aback. What kind of question was that?

"Well, you've just answered your own question, Miss Daaé," Miss Mulheim remarked.

"I thought you were raised to be polite?" Christine asked.

Although she knew Christine would not see it, the young girl could not help but smirk. "I did not call you an idiot, now did I, Miss Daaé?"

"You implied it," Christine responded.

The girl's smile turned into a smile. "I did not imply that you were an idiot in any way, shape or form. All I simply did was make you answer your own question."

"So you do have a first name?" Christine questioned. She asked the question on purpose to see how Miss Muhlheim would react. However, Christine did not get a reaction as she expected. She expected the young girl to say something, but the girl did not.

She instead stopped, and turned around. The young girl then closed her eyes, sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. Christine saw Miss Muhlheim's mouth move but only heard a tiny whisper, something that sounded like:

"Why are there more idiots than intelligent people?"

Christine smirked and said, "You definitely implied that I'm an idiot then."

The girl opened her eyes, the frown remaining on her face. "Listen very carefully; I shall say this only once, Miss Daaé. My temper and I are not on the best relationship terms, and sometimes my temper likes to get the better of me. People who think they're being clever when they are being idiots are one of the many things that make me lose my temper." The girl walked one step down, getting closer to Christine. "I advise you, Miss Daaé, to comply with me and not say or do things that will make me lose my temper. I am not a pleasant person when I am angry. So you can only imagine what I am like when I am _furious_."

Miss Muhlheim turned around, her hair close to whipping Christine's face. "My instructions should be clear, Miss Daaé," the girl sideways glanced at Christine, a smirk now replacing the frown. "Remember, there are worse things then a shattered chandelier."

Before Christine could say anything, the young girl had gone up the stairs and through the door. Christine was frozen on the spot. Those words… from five years ago. The threats that the Phantom had left. Everyone had obeyed him; not out of loyalty, but out of fear.

Now was his daughter using the same threat?

"Hurry _up_, Miss Daaé!"

Christine quickly came out of her trance, and hurried up the stairs. When she caught up with the young girl, Christine realised that she still did not know the girl's first name.

"What is your first name?"

The girl answered straight away. "I do not wish to tell you, Miss Daaé. Knowing my surname is sufficient enough."

Christine sighed. So it seemed she would never learn Miss Muhlheim's first name. Unless she asked _him_. She didn't actually expect him to answer her though. Christine didn't even expect that he would talk to her.

It was then that Christine noticed where they were walking. Down a hallway that had red painted walls and paintings that _looked_ expensive. It had a golden border running all the way down the hallway and the carpet underneath their feet was a navy blue. _Everything_ was still the same as it was before. Absolutely _nothing_ had been changed.

"If you want to know my name, ask the one who gave it me," Miss Muhlheim suddenly announced. "Although, you might not get an answer. I still have yet to know the meaning of my name."

"Do you feel you can't go through life without knowing the meaning of your name?" Christine asked.

Miss Muhlheim scoffed. "Don't be so silly, Miss Daaé. Of course not. I am just interested in the meaning."

"What do you think your name means?" Christine questioned. She too was becoming interested in the meaning of the girl's name. Christine was hoping that she could learn of the girl's name in this way. Though, she knew she had very little chance of actually doing that.

"I've never really given it much thought, Miss Daaé. What does yours mean?"

Christine smiled. "Mine means follower of Christ." That brought up another subject. "Do you believe in God, Miss Muhlheim?"

The girl shook her head. "No, I do not, Miss Daaé. If there were truly a God, then life would be far fairer for _him_ and I. God is supposed to love everyone, correct? If that's so, then it seems he has forgotten about _him_ and me."

Christine once again felt sorry for the girl. "I'm sor—"

"I have already told you, Miss Daaé. Apologies will not work."

"Maybe God will help you in time."

The young girl stopped and turned to face Christine, glaring at her. "In time? Miss Daaé, God has had over thirty-five years to _help_!" Christine could not help but notice that the little girl (she must have been only 4ft 10 or something) seemed rather peeved off at Christine's suggestion. The girl turned around once more. "God has truly failed us—and so we refuse to believe in him."

Christine did not say anything, and so the two walked in silence down the rest of the corridor. They eventually reached golden double doors. Miss Muhlheim only opened one of the doors and let herself through it, leaving Christine alone in the hallway. She gazed at the doors for a few moments, and then let herself through them, but instead of opening one, she opened them both—which proved to be quite a task (she had left her suitcase at the previous door. She knew no one would dare to venture into the Opera Populaire these days).

As soon as she saw the sight behind the doors, Christine smiled. There, right in front of them, was the stage. There were stairs and the orchestra pit in-between the two girls and the stage, and there was no way they could get onto the stage by going down the stairs.

Christine didn't realise what she said until after it come out of her lips. "I wish my son could see this…"

It immediately caught Miss Muhlheim's attention. "You have a _child_, Miss Daaé?"

"Yes. He is three-years of age. He would be fascinated by all this."

"Well, maybe you should bring him here one day," Miss Muhlheim suggested; any sign of being annoyed evidently gone. Christine nodded in agreement even though the young girl did not see as she had her back to Christine.

"I'm afraid, Miss Daaé, that we must walk down that long hallway again."

"That's okay."

They both turned and opened the doors at the same time. Miss Muhlheim let Christine through, and then went through herself. They both walked quicker down the long hallway and in silence once again. They eventually went out the door and into the hall again. Christine quickly picked up her suitcase again.

Miss Muhlheim led Christine down the stairs.

"Where are we going now, Miss Muhlheim?" Christine quickly conjured up a plan. She figured that if she saying the young girl's surname in every sentence, the young girl would ultimately become annoyed and ask Christine to instead refer to her by her first name. This reminded Christine of something else.

"We are going to my home, Miss Daaé."

"I see. Oh, there's something I wish to tell you, Miss Muhlheim."

"What is it, Miss Daaé?" the young girl asked, leading Christine down a corridor which was dark and lit by candles on the wall. It was as if it was a cave. But Christine knew it was far from a cave.

"You can call me by my first name."

"Miss Daaé, I'm going to have to refuse. The way in which I was brought up brings me to believe I should not call anyone by their first name unless they are a close friend of mine or if they were my sibling."

"Okay. I can understand that, Miss Muhlheim."

"Please cease to do that," the young girl suddenly announced.

"Cease to do what?" Christine decided to act innocent—even though she feared it would cause the girl to be angered once more.

"Cease to keep saying my last name at the end of every sentence. I do not need to be reminded of who I am," Miss Muhlheim replied, annoyance once again entering her young voice. Which led Christine to wonder just how young the young girl actually was?

"As you wish. There's something I've been wondering."

"You are a very curious woman, Miss Daaé," Miss Muhlheim commented, adding a sigh to the end of her sentence. "Perhaps maybe _too_ curious… carry on."

"How many years do you have?"

"Fifteen, Miss Daaé."

Christine didn't know which to be more surprised at—the fact that the young girl had actually answered a question without any hesitation, or that the young girl was older than Christine had thought.

"Really? You have more years than I thought."

"I'll take that as a compliment, Miss Daaé."

The two girls finally arrived at a lake, which Christine knew all too well. A little boat was at the edge of the lake, resting in the water. A long stick was in the boat, so someone could steer the boat.

Christine looked to the adolescent girl and expected to see a smile. There wasn't. A frown was on Miss Muhlheim's face.

"What's wrong?" Christine questioned.

"He's still here. I had rather hoped that he wouldn't be, so he would be less angry when I revealed you to him."

Christine found herself grimacing too. She had been on the receiving end of the Phantom's anger, and she didn't want to experience it again. "So what are going to do?"

"_I_, Miss Daaé, am going to take you down to my home, and then _we_ are going to wait there," the young girl answered, stepping into the boat. "Please do not stand there all day, Miss Daaé."

Christine stepped into the boat, being careful not to tip it over. She sat down, set her suitcase next to her, and let Miss Muhlheim steer the boat down to the Phantom's lair. It was a long and silent ride, and Christine was surprised to be glad to arrive at the Phantom's lair. She was also surprised that she did not have to sing for the gate to rise out of the water.

"I know you're wondering about the gate, Miss Daaé," Miss Muhlheim said. "You do not have to sing to open the gate, because it opens on its own. There is a piece of mechanics underneath the water which, when the boat runs over it, sets off the gate, allowing it to rise up. It does not stay in the same way for very long, so we have to be quick when entering through the gate."

"Well, that explains it all. So I stressed my vocal chords for nothing?" Christine still remembered singing that high E6 note. It was the highest note she had ever sung in her life, and she had never sung it again after that.

"It would seem that way, Miss Daaé. Well, here we are," the adolescent girl said, moving out of the boat and onto dry land. She offered a hand to Christine, who gratefully accepted it. After pulling Christine out of the boat, the young girl walked over to a two-seated sofa and promptly sat down on it. She set the white mask down on the sofa. "It has not changed, has it, Miss Daaé?"

"No… not at all," Christine said, looking around in fascination. As her eyes landed on Miss Muhlheim, the girl immediately stood up. "What's the matter?"

"… Christine… Daaé?" asked a familiar male voice from behind Christine.

Christine's eyes widened and she quickly turned around. She came face to face with _him_… the one who she believed to be her angel of music. "Erik…" He still looked the same, but it was obvious that he would, because only five years had passed. The mask he wore at the moment was exactly the same as his white one, but only black.

He didn't appear to be angry at all. However, that quickly changed when his eyes flashed over to the young girl.

"You," he snapped, sounding furious, "I wish to talk privately to you. _Now_."

Christine turned her head, and saw the young girl quickly disappear into another part of the lair. Then Erik quickly walked past her into the same part. Christine thought about eavesdropping, but that would be rude.

"Please excuse me, Christine," Erik announced, "I shall not be long." The door that Erik went through slammed, and Christine felt sorry for the young girl.

--

The young girl jumped slightly when the door slammed. Erik walked over to her, the non-deformed side of his face twisted in anger.

"How _dare_ you?!" He seethed, his teeth gritted. "Not only did you leave the opera house, but you brought _her_ back with you!"

"I did it for you," the young girl answered calmly. She knew not to raise her voice. She knew she was being an idiot lying, though. "None of this was for my own selfish needs."

"You're damn well lying, Charisse!" Erik yelled, having to restrain himself from slapping her. "There's nothing you don't do that's not for yourself!"

"That's a lie! There's plenty of things I've done that's for you!" Charisse was on the edge of tears. She could never help crying when her father was yelling at her.

"Oh yeah? Name me one! One, Charisse, and I will take it back."

Charisse said nothing; she slide down the wall and buried her head in her arms which were resting on her knees. She could not name a time when she had done something for her father because she couldn't remember. But she knew Erik wouldn't see it that way.

"See? You can't, you little lying—" Erik had to cut himself off before he called her something he would regret. It was then he properly had a look at her. In a matter of seconds, Erik had transformed her from a calm girl to a sobbing heap on the floor. The amount of guilt was overwhelming. Erik sighed and knelt in front of his daughter (which after fifteen years still sounded weird).

"Charisse." She did not look at him. "Charisse," Erik said, a little more forcefully. Charisse brought her face up, revealing her eyes to be red from crying. "I apologise for making you cry." Erik pulled Charisse into a hug. "You know how my temper gets the better of me."

"Like mine does," Charisse said, her voice sounding as if she was a little girl again. Erik chuckled.

"Yes, quite. Like father, like daughter."

"It would appear."

"Now," Erik lifted up Charisse's chin with his index finger, "are you going to tell me the _truth_ on why you bought Christine here?"

Charisse bit her lip and looked away. She couldn't tell him the truth. That would be calling her father a terrible parent. It would make her seem ungrateful. Charisse didn't want to hurt her father's feelings. She didn't want to lose her father even more than she already had. She _had _to lie to him. Even though it pained her to do so, she had no choice but to.

"I honestly brought her here for you. So you could see that she's well and happy."

Erik closed his eyes and sighed. He knew his daughter was _still_ lying, but he did not want to yell at her again. So he decided to believe her… for now.

"Okay. I believe you."

Erik could not help but smile when he saw the smile on Charisse's face. Erik loved seeing Charisse smile and thought that she should smile permanently.

"Thank you, Father."

That was yet another word of which Erik could not become used to. Charisse had been calling him _Father_ ever since she was six-years of age, and after nine years, he still couldn't help but laugh at her reason for doing so.

--

_The sounds of the organ filled the lair as the Phantom sat playing with one hand, and writing down the notes for this new piece of music with the other. To say he was skilled was an understatement. The man was a genius in all different areas: music (one which was obvious), architecture, ventriloquism and being able to be almost invisible. There was, however, one skill that had Erik stumped (even though he had been practising it for six years now and would be for the rest of his life, unless something were to happen to the object on which he practised with—but that was unlikely to happen)._

_Fatherhood._

_On that day, he discovered an interesting fact as he played at his organ. He never thought that he would find something louder than his organ. That soon changed when he heard a shrill voice shriek:_

"_Daddy!"_

_Erik immediately ceased playing and turned round to find his youthful daughter staring at him with a stern expression and her arms crossed—most likely in annoyance. Erik began to wonder what had happened to cause his daughter to be in such a mood. He chose his words carefully, for he knew never to get on the wrong side of a woman, whether she is a young child or not._

"_What has happened for there to be a frown on your beautiful face?" Erik asked, expecting Charisse to come over to him for comfort. But she did no such thing. Erik could only guess that he was the reason of her displeasure._

"_You happened, Daddy!" Charisse cried in such a childish way—but that could not be helped. "You've been making me call you daddy, when that is the wrong word to address you by!"_

_Erik was proud of both Charisse and himself. He was proud of Charisse because she was so well spoken, and proud of himself for teaching Charisse to be so well spoken. It made sense that his child should be a genius too. However, he wouldn't force her into anything she did not want to do._

"_And pray tell, what is the right word to address me by?" Erik felt disappointed that his daughter did not want to call him daddy anymore. He strangely felt some joy in being called by the informal word and never wanted to stop being called it. Nevertheless, Erik knew this day would come one day. _

"_It's father, and so, that's the word I shall address you by from now on."_

_Erik was rather curious on why Charisse thought daddy was the wrong way to address him. So he decided to question it._

"_As you wish, my child. But why did you come to believe that you should be calling me father?" It was after this question that Charisse walked over to him and sat herself upon his lap. _

"_One of the ballet dancers said that I was such a child calling you daddy. She told me that I was being really informal and that it was the wrong thing to call you," Charisse explained, innocence filling her tone. She truly was the greatest child in Erik's eyes, and Erik only wished she could stay a child._

"_And you believed her?" Erik questioned, wrapping his arms around his small child and bringing her closer to him. Charisse nodded, causing her brown curls to bob up and down. "You do know that she could have been lying too?"_

"_But she wasn't, Daddy!" Erik noticed that she was still calling him daddy. Rather than deciding to say something, he kept silent. "She's really older than me!"_

"_That makes her right, does it?" Erik enquired, finding her reason to be quite funny. Charisse didn't answer him; she only nodded again. "Well, you may call me whatever you wish, my daughter."_

"_Thank you, Daddy. But, Daddy… there's something I need to tell you."_

"_What is that?"_

"_I'm going to miss calling you daddy."_

"_Me too."_

--

_It was early in the morning and Erik had not awoken yet, which was unusual for him. Fortunately, he had an alarm which had brown, curly hair, green eyes, and was wearing a white nightgown. Erik's alarm opened the door ever so slightly, and peered in through the crack. His alarm then opened the door fully, walked over to his bed and climbed onto his bed, all the while being careful not to wake Erik. His alarm then held out her arms and shoved as hard as she could (when in actual fact, it was the tiniest shove) to wake up Erik. When that failed, Erik's alarm tried a different strategy._

"_Father."_

_That did not work._

_Erik's alarm bent down, then cupped her hands around her mouth and screamed into Erik's ear:_

"_FATHER!"_

_Erik woke up immediately. He rubbed his eyes and let out a yawn. He looked to his left—but did not find what he was looking for. In confusion, Erik sat up using the support of his hands and arms._

"_I'm here, Father."_

_Erik looked to his right, and saw his alarm; Charisse._

_Charisse had a mischievous smile on her face; her arms were in a 'V' shape as her hands were clasped together. This position was known as her "I haven't done anything wrong" position._

_Erik only smiled at her, and lifted onto the bed. Charisse squealed with laughter and sat with her legs crossed in front of Erik once she was placed onto the bed._

"_Why did you call me father?"_

_Erik had purposely forgotten their conversation yesterday, and was hoping that Charisse was over it. To Erik's dismay, she was not._

"_Don't you remember, Father? I told you yesterday that I would address you by it from now on!"_

_Erik sighed in disappointment._

--

"Father?"

It was the word that sent him into his flashback that bought him out of his flashback.

He smiled and looked to Charisse who was now standing by the door. Erik himself stood up and walked over to her. "Yes, my darling grace?"

"Father…" Charisse sounded embarrassed, though Erik could not see any reason for her to be. "Must you call me such names?"

"Must you call me father?" Erik mocked her tone, causing Charisse to let out a little giggle.

"I suppose you have a point," Charisse waited a few moments before speaking again, "Daddy."

"I have not heard that word for nine years now," Erik said. Charisse knew he was happy to hear that word again. If she was honest; so was she. "You should still keep calling me father, though."

Charisse giggled once more, and opened the door slightly ready to walk out of it.

"Whatever you say, Daddy."

--

Christine held the white mask in her hands, not taking her eyes off it. She had heard yelling from where Erik and his daughter were, but not enough to learn of his daughter's name. Christine really hoped that Erik would tell her. She didn't want to have to say "Miss Muhlheim" in front of Erik. It would be uncomfortable and make Christine look like a fool in front of Erik.

"Is there something which fascinates you about that mask, Miss Daaé?"

Christine's head snapped up when she heard the young girl's voice once more. It held a slightly teary tone to it, but Christine decided not to question it. She instead quickly placed the mask back down.

"Oh no… it's just… I had no entertainment."

"Well, I apologise for that, Miss Daaé." Miss Muhlheim walked over to Christine, and picked the mask up. "It was not easy taking this, Miss Daaé. I almost risked my life retrieving this."

"So _that's_ where my mask went."

Both girls looked at Erik. One didn't change her expression, and the other smirked.

"I notice that you didn't ask my permission to take it."

"Because I know you would have refused the chance to do so," Miss Muhlheim replied, and to Christine, it sounded like the pair were not at all being serious. "And then I would have never convinced Miss Daaé to come here."

"_Miss Daaé_? I would have thought she would be Christine de Chagney by now…" Christine could not deny that as he said it, Erik's tone held some pain to it.

"I am," Christine answered, causing the two to look straight at her. "But… your daughter insists on addressing me by my maiden name."

"And I have already told you the reason, Miss Daaé," Erik's daughter retorted. "Please do not make me repeat it."

"I wasn't planning to," Christine replied, all the while wondering why Erik was not saying anything. Christine focused her eyes on Erik. He was staring back at her, keeping his eyes fixed on her face. Christine knew he was thinking about the past.

"Good," Miss Muhlheim said. "Now, Miss Daaé," the young girl nodded to Christine's suitcase, "where are you planning to stay?"

The question caught Christine off caught and she had to ask what the young girl had said, for she was not listening fully.

"I said, Miss Daaé, and I hope you're paying attention this time instead of staring at my father as if you've never seen him before, where are you planning to stay?"

"Well, I promised Raoul," Christine swore that she could hear Erik growl slightly at the mention of Raoul, "that I would stay in a hotel."

"In a _hotel_?" The young girl laughed. "Miss Daaé, whom are you kidding? A hotel costs money and I know that you have none on you." Christine blushed as she knew this was indeed true. Miss Muhlheim walked over to Christine, and to Christine's astonishment, the young girl took Christine's hand in her own. Christine was left to wonder what the young girl was doing—but it soon dawned on her after the girl asked a question; her green eyes seeming to be wider than normal.

"Miss Daaé, won't you stay in the ballet dormitories? As you are quite aware, there is only my father and I that live here."

_She was pleading_.

Although she knew it was totally improper for a young lady to plead, Christine knew she could not reject Miss Muhlheim. However, she would stay on one condition. "If I am to stay in the opera house, than request that I am to be left alone at night."

Miss Muhlheim immediately took her hand away and walked back over to her father. "What do you say to it, Father? Does it sound fair?"

Christine drew a sharp intake of breath. She knew Erik would not be able to resist watching over her at night. She did not mind that. As long as he only watched—and nothing else.

"I think the _Viscountess _drives a fair bargain."

Christine let out a breath in relief. She then realised what Erik had called her. The Vicountess. Unlike his daughter, he addressed her by her proper title. It was almost as if he was reprimanding his daughter for calling her _Miss Daaé_.

"Thank you… Erik," Christine said. Erik only nodded and said nothing.

"Well, _Miss Daaé_," Christine noticed the emphasis that Miss Mulheim put on her name, and Christine realised that the young girl had heard the reprimanding tone in Erik's voice as well, "shall I accompany you to your room?"

Christine had wanted to speak to the young girl alone, so it was an offer she could not refuse.

"I would appreciate that very much…" Christine hesitated to address the girl by her surname, but did so anyway after a few moments, "Miss Muhlheim."

Said girl smirked and answered, "Very well then… Miss Daaé."

--

The journey to the ballet dormitories was shorter than Christine remembered—but then again, she _was_ following the Opera Ghost's daughter, who was definitely bound to know a shortcut. Christine would not have been surprised if the girl knew a shortcut to everywhere in the opera house.

Now, when they arrived there, Christine was of course expecting to see the same old sight; plain single beds facing each other, with a thin grey sheet and white pillows on each bed. The wallpaper being a dull green and the carpet being a horrible colour of red. The sight now was completely different. So different in fact, that Christine was positively sure it was not the same room.

The walls were a light pink, and there was a border that was white with a line of red on the top and bottom, and red roses in the white part. The carpet was now a normal red colour, with a pink rug in the middle of the room. Placed at the end of the room was a double sized bed, which had red silk sheets on it and dark pink silk pillows on it. In addition, the room was much lighter and had a tint of lavender.

"Are… are you sure _this_ is the right room?" Christine blurted out.

Miss Muhlheim smiled, walked into the middle of the room and then turned to face Christine. "I am positive, Miss Daaé. I _am_ the one who made all the changes to the room—with help from my father, of course."

"It's really… beautiful. A vast improvement from what it used to be," Christine complimented. "But… if someone does buy the opera house, then where shall the ballet dancers sleep?"

"In another room, that is exactly like this, except with single beds," Miss Muhlheim answered simply. "You know, Miss Daaé, I sometimes sleep in here. I feel that if my father and I were to live in a house, that my room would be exactly like this."

"Why don't you make this room your room then?" Christine enquired.

"I cannot tell you, Miss Daaé. Personal reasons."

Of course, that only left Christine _more_ curious. She wondered if the girl was suffering from something, and needed to be close to Erik. Yes, that must be it. The young girl must have been suffering from nightmares. If she was, then Christine could not blame her. With a father like Erik, it was inevitable.

"Miss Daaé, I trust you can unpack on your own? May I remind you that you shall not be waited on hand and foot here?"

"Yes, I'm fully aware of that," Christine replied, picking up her suitcase and putting it onto the bed. "But when should I—"

But the girl had already gone.

Christine smiled and shook her head.

"Just like her father."

'_Maybe too much like her father…'_

**--**

**Okay! I am done. Told you it was going to be a long chapter. So, what do you think of it? Is it good? Oh, and by the way, here are is a picture of the Michael Crawford Phantom and the Sarah Brightman Christine Daaé if you don't know what they look like and can't imagine them (just take the spaces out): h t t p : // farm2. static. flickr. com / 1107/810149102 _ 411af0bb18 . jpg. **

**If you search for the deformity of Michael Crawford's Phantom, just be prepared, okay? Because it's worse than Gerald Butler's. **

**Charisse is a real French name, but I'm not going to reveal what it means for a long time. If you want to know, just search it, okay? I'm sure you're capable of doing that**

**Please review!**

**Yunagirlamy, 5.10.09. **


	4. Angel of Nightmares

**Author's Notes: Okay, COMPLETELY focused on Charisse this chapter! It shall ONLY be from her point of view, but not in a first person point of view. See, I'm clever that way.**

**Summary: Christine and Raoul have been married for four years and have a three-year-old son. It is five years after the events at the opera house. But those events come knocking on Christine's door in the form of a teenage girl. Who is she and what link does she have to the past?**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and this storyline.**

**-- is a scene change or a different point of view.**

**Singing will be in italics and with a hash (#) before it.**

**Chapter Three: Angel of Nightmares.**

**--**

Her stomach moved up and down in a rhythmic pattern, and her lips were parted slightly. Her right hand was far away from her head and her left hand was rested by her face. Her brown curls were all situated on her right-hand side.

Charisse sighed. She wished that she could sleep as peacefully as Miss Daaé. The only reason why she was watching Miss Daaé (through a hidden two-way mirror) sleep was because Charisse could not sleep serenely herself. She had not actually fallen asleep; it was the idea _of_ falling asleep that she could not sleep.

Ever since Charisse was ten, she started to have a recurring nightmare.

A nightmare she blamed on no one but Miss Christine Daaé.

--

_Charisse and her father were walking down one of the many halls of the Opera Populaire, their hands clasped firmly together. Charisse was absolutely determined that she was not going to let her father escape from her. She knew that her father would not let her get away from him anyway._

_Then, somewhere in the distant, a voice started singing._

_But Charisse did not have to get closer to know who it was. Her father, however, seemed to be in a trance by the voice and wanted to follow it. He dragged Charisse along. Charisse, unfortunately, could not keep up and fell over; her hand slipping out of her father's._

"_Father!" she called, desperately trying to get his attention. "Father! Please, come back!"_

_Erik did not look back; he kept walking towards the angelic voice._

_Charisse slowly, but surely stood up. She was not sure why she stood up slowly and it frustrated her greatly. As soon as she was stood up, she started to run. But as she ran more and more, her father became further away to her._

"_Father!" she yelled, "Please, look at me! Turn around! Anything!"_

_The young girl finally collapsed onto the floor and the beautiful voice was louder, as if it was taunting her._

--

Charisse closed her eyes and sighed heavily. Within seconds of closing her eyes, she nearly fell asleep. She had _many_ sleepless nights because of the nightmare, but she had not told her father about it. She knew that her father would either: One. call her childish or two. tell her she was being silly.

Her father just simply was not the supportive type. Charisse had once had a nightmare when she was seven (she was surrounded by darkness and being taunted by various voices), and she woke up in the middle of the night, frightened to death. She ran to her father's room, and woke him up. He was incredibly annoyed, but nonetheless, listened to what had happened in her nightmare. After Charisse had explained her nightmare, Erik gave her a lecture on how inappropriate it was to wake somebody up in the middle of the night, regardless of what reason they had. He then called her silly for being so scared of such a stupid nightmare, and sent her back to bed.

Charisse had never woken her father up again for any reason ever since.

Charisse then looked at the pendulum clock that was in Christine's room. It was seventeen minutes past three in the morning. She decided it was time to be returning back to her own room. She was about to turn when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Charisse did not have to turn to know who it was, because there was only one person it could have been.

"Charisse," Erik said, sounding tired, "why are you not in bed?"

Charisse walked away from her father, letting his hand fall to his side. "For reasons I can't say."

"Charisse, I am your _father_—"

"I know. Thank you for reminding me."

Erik breathed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Charisse."

He did not need to say anything else; the way he said her name was enough to get Charisse moving. She knew had already angered him by talking back to him, and knew she was in for a long lecture. Charisse would rather have that because it delayed her having to go to bed and fall asleep—even if her father wasn't in the most pleasant of moods with her.

Charisse walked in front of her father in complete silence. She was, however, cursing at him in her head.

"Stop thinking such vile thoughts," her father commented, as if he could read her mind.

Charisse thought it was just as well that he read her mind, because she knew that Erik was _always_ aware of what she was thinking.

"I shall not, for they are my thoughts and mine alone. I am allowed to think whatev—"

Charisse did not finish her sentence as she was cut off by a firm swat to her backside. She did not gasp, or yelp—she was used to this happening, and learnt to control it. The one thing she could _not_ control, however, was the tears rushing rapidly to her eyes. She tried not to sniffle, as that would show her father that she was crying—_yet again_. Charisse, unfortunately, could not help but to sniffle; her father immediately reacted.

"Oh stop crying, you silly girl. It was a gentle swat and nothing more."

Charisse had observed that over the years, her father was quite intent on calling her a "silly girl". Maybe Erik held the opinion that the term suited her. Maybe he even thought that it should be her name instead of Charisse.

Of course, Charisse was so lost in her mind that she had not noticed that they had arrived back home. Before she had time to protest, Charisse found herself sitting down on a hard chair, no doubt for the purpose of creating even more pain on her aching backside (Charisse knew that many people would call her weak for complaining of just one swat, but to be fair—her father _was_ quite a strong man). Although she could not protest _before_ she was sat on the chair, she could certainly protest _after_.

"Father, this _hurts_!" Throwing in a lie would not hurt either. "I am terribly tired and wish to retire to my cha—" Once again, she was interrupted.

"You are in _no_ position to talk back to me," Erik said, anger threading his voice. He placed both his hands on the chair handles and bent his back, leaning as far as he could, bringing his face just inches away from that of Charisse's.

Charisse could swear that even his _breath_ was angry.

Wait. Scratch that.

Her father wasn't angry.

He was _furious_.

"It is _meant_ to hurt, Charisse," Erik told her, "for that is why I did it. I also know that you are once again lying to me."

Charisse looked down and quickly wiped the tears that were threatening to grace her cheeks.

"Your crying proves that you are lying. You cry when you lie."

Charisse did not say anything, for she knew it was true. She yearned for some way to make her stop crying, because then, she could lie whenever, and no one would be able to tell. Not even her father, which would be the greatest one of them all.

Suddenly, Erik gripped her chin and forced her to look at him. _That_ hurt her too, but she would not admit to it.

"Wipe your tears away."

Charisse closed her eyes and waited for it. She knew it was coming.

But it never came.

Because she had fallen asleep within seconds of closing her eyes.

--

Charisse awoke with a start, her eyes wide open. She had had the same nightmare again, where she fell over and couldn't reach her father. However, it was slightly different. This time, she felt that the singing voice was singing in her ear at the end.

Charisse felt around with her hand and groaned with pain (as her behind was _still_ aching) as she sat up. After rubbing her eyes, she found that she was in her bed. Charisse knew that she must have fallen asleep, and then her father carried to bed.

But… she also knew that her father stayed in her room awhile. _How_ did she know that? She didn't know _why_, but she just did. Charisse was not going to question her father over it, though. He would still be angry from the previous events.

Charisse looked over at the hanging pendulum clock. It was twenty-three minutes past ten. She had slept in extraordinarily late.

Charisse rushed out of bed, and quickly changed into a velvet pink dress that had white hems and flower patterns all over it. She looked at her hair in a mirror, and quickly decided that she leave it as was; she did not want to anger her father further by being so late out of her bedchamber.

When she _did_ come out of her bedchamber, however, she found that her father was no-where to be seen. Charisse blinked in astonishment. It was extremely weird for her father not to be here in the morning. He was _always_ here. Then Charisse remembered their guest.

_Miss Daaé_.

Charisse looked over at the lake and saw the boat gone.

That confirmed her suspicions.

Erik had gone to see Miss Daaé.

Charisse felt a little jealous that her father was with Miss Daaé rather than with her—but she was glad as well, because it meant she did not have to suffer her father's temper further. Charisse thought she could actually have quite a nice, peaceful morning.

There _was_, however, the problem of how she could keep herself entertained.

Playing on her father's piano immediately entered her mind. He would not mind Charisse playing on his piano simply because he was not here _to_ mind. A mischievous smile on her face, Charisse ran over to her father's piano (which was not that far away from his organ). As she sat down on it, she winced slightly as her behind came into contact with the piano bench.

Charisse lifted her hands to the piano and gently rested them on the keys. What to play? There were a limited number of things she could actually play and not make it sound different, because unlike her father, she was _not_ a musical genius. She wasn't terrible, though.

Her singing voice was… _acceptable_.

Charisse eventually settled on a song. It was _Think of Me_, the song that brought Miss Daaé to fame. However, Charisse had been working on her own version. She had changed the lyrics slightly.

With a smile, she started to play, and after the introduction was over (with a few minor mistakes), she opened her mouth to sing.

_#Smile at me, smile at me always, when I am with you._

_#Look at me; smile at me warmly and then promise me your love._

_#If you promise me your love, say you'll never take it back._

_#Then just always remember; I am your one._

Charisse then played the instrumental, but she found a slight problem. Those were the only lyrics she had thought up. Her imagination was not immense enough for her to think up more. In frustration, Charisse slammed her hands down on the keys, causing various notes to play—which did not sound so pleasant to listen to.

"I did not think the piano sounded that way."

Charisse froze.

Her father was back.

"Your singing was lovely and so were those lyrics. Very creative."

And he had brought Miss Daaé back with him.

Whilst Erik still sounded angry (Charisse could only assume that it was because he never even managed to _start_ his lecture), Miss Daaé's tone held compassion to it. Charisse realised that what Miss Daaé said was not a compliment at all. Miss Daaé just did not want to anger her, that's all.

Well, Charisse was smarter than Miss Daaé thought.

"Miss Daaé, I do _not _need your sympathy."

"Oh, but it wasn't. I meant what I said."

Yes. _Sure_ she did.

Charisse turned and glared at Miss Daaé. In the corner of Charisse's eye, she could see that Erik was giving her the sternest look he could muster up. It frightened Charisse, but nevertheless, she continued to glower at Miss Daaé.

"Miss Daaé, I am smarter than you credit me for. I can tell when it is an actual compliment; or whether it is compassion." Charisse stood up, and folded her arms over her chest. "So please, Miss Daaé, do not attempt to argue with me."

Charisse walked past Miss Daaé and her father—or at least, she _tried_ to. Her father grabbed her arm forcefully and forced her to look at him.

"Don't _ever_ speak to Christine in that way again. Apologise to her."

With a roll of her eyes, Charisse sighed. "I apologise, Miss Daaé."

Miss Daaé simply nodded and smiled. "I accept your apology."

Erik let go of his daughter's arm and let her walk away.

When Charisse was close enough to her room (because what she was about say next, she would need to rush into her room to escape the wrath of her father), she turned round with a smirk, and spoke. "I apologise also, Miss Daaé, that you are a stupid, little airhead!"

With those words out of her mouth, Charisse ran into her room, and quickly shut the door. She put her ear against the door, but she did not hear anything outside. Charisse raised an eyebrow in puzzlement. Why was nothing happening? She had just insulted Miss Daaé, and so expected that Miss Daaé would be sobbing her heart out, or at least something similar to that. Charisse had also expected her father to come banging on her door, but again, no such thing happened.

With a shrug, Charisse went to lie down on her bed. What she hadn't realised, is that she was _still_ lacking the right amount of sleep and therefore, she fell to sleep within minutes of lying down.

--

Charisse awoke about twenty minutes later; sweat running down her forehead. She, once again, had the same nightmare, but again, there was something different to it.

_Miss Daaé was kissing her father._

"Oh, why must you torment me, angel of nightmares?" Charisse whispered.

'_I have not done anything to make you suffer—and yet, you take joy in letting me suffer.'_

**--**

**That was hard—writing in Charisse's point of view! But, you can't know TOO much about her yet, so I had to keep back things. So, tell me what you think of Charisse. Is she someone who needs a good slap? Is she a little angel? TELL ME. In your reviews. Pwease?**

**Yunagirlamy, 6.10.09.**


	5. That Little Devil

**Author's Notes: This story is moving quickly, right? BUT, I am not rushing it, I can assure you that! Okay, so you're in for a treat now! Erik's point of view! Again, not in first person. Oh yes, this is set just after Charisse has insulted Christine. AND, Christine learns of Charisse's name. Hey, Erik had to spit it out sometime.**

**Summary: Christine and Raoul have been married for four years and have a three-year-old son. It is five years after the events at the opera house. But those events come knocking on Christine's door in the form of a teenage girl. Who is she and what link does she have to the past?**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and this storyline.**

**-- is a scene change or a different point of view.**

**Chapter Four: That Little Devil.**

**--**

How _dare_ she!

Calling Christine, his angel, a "stupid, little airhead"!

That… that… _no_. Erik could not bring himself to call his child a vulgar name. But what was _happening_ to Charisse? She was not the lovely girl he raised anymore. The Charisse he raised—she wouldn't _dream_ of insulting _any_one! Nor would she keep talking back to him like she was. He and Charisse were going to have a _serious_ talk.

But not right now. He needed to attend to his angel.

"Christine?" Erik said, his tone soft.

"Please… _don't_ call me that." Christine turned away from him, as if she was disgusted to look at him. But Erik knew it was not for that reason. He knew Christine was finding it hard to be here—as was he finding it hard for Christine to be here.

Erik wondered what his daughter (even though she did not deserve that title, for she was _not_ the same child) had said to Christine to convince to return to the opera house. He would not, however, ask neither Christine nor Charisse (Erik was sure she didn't even deserve her _name_), but rather try and see if he could find out the answer for himself.

"Christine…" Erik ignored Christine's demand. It was too irresistible saying her name—after all, why would he not want to speak an angel's name? "I apologise for how Charisse," Erik felt he was saying the name of a devil, and he felt incredibly guilty doing so. He knew that this was not how a father was supposed to feel towards their child, "has acted towards you."

"Charisse is her name?" Christine turned round, but not so she was fully facing him.

Erik nodded. "Yes. She did not tell you?" In all honesty, he did not want to be talking about Charisse—but what else was there to talk about, without causing pain to the both of them?

"I asked if she had a first name. She then implied I was an idiot."

Erik was stunned. How many dangerous steps was his child willing to take before she stepped _too_ far? Could she not do so much as to answer a simple question without insulting anyone? It seemed that _all_ she ever did was insult people.

Erik took a deep breath in and after a few moments, breathed back out.

"I apologise—"

"Please, Erik," the Phantom could not help but smile a tiny bit when she said his name, "do not apologise for the actions of your daughter. I have learned what her feelings are towards me, and I accept that."

"Christine, she has not always been like this!" Erik did not know why he was defending his child; Christine had not even insulted her. "Charisse was once the loveliest girl." Erik smiled as he remembered what Charisse used to be like. "Smiling at all times; practically dancing instead of walking. Whenever she spoke, her voice always held delight in it."

Erik's smile quickly transitioned into a frown when the present came back to mind.

"But now… I hardly see a smile upon her face; nor have I seen her dance for five years. Her voice… it's grim." Erik looked up to see Christine now facing him fully. "Charisse has… changed. Whoever she is now… she's not _my_ daughter."

"I'm sorry, Erik."

Erik frowned even more. Why was his angel apologising?

"Please, Christine… do not apologise. If anyone is to be apologising, it should be me—to Charisse, for I am her parent, and it must be my fault that she has changed."

Christine did not say anything.

Erik sighed. There was _nothing_ he would not do to make his daughter into the girl he once knew.

"Erik, I was wondering if I could speak alone with Charisse."

"I would not advise it. But if you wish to… be my guest."

Christine nodded and headed in the direction of Charisse's room.

Erik had a bad feeling in his stomach. He feared that this would all end terribly—that was, of course, assuming that Charisse would even _let_ Christine into her bedchamber. Erik thought it over. Of course she wouldn't! Surely Christine must have known that too!

"Charisse?" Christine spoke his daughter's name so delicately. "I know that your feelings towards me are not pleasant right now—but, I feel if we talk, maybe I can make some amends." There was no answer. "Charisse? Are… you in there?"

Confused, Erik joined Christine in front of Charisse's room.

"Why is she not answering?"

"I do not know, Christine. I shall investigate."

Erik placed his hand on the handle of his daughter's bedchamber, and prepared for the worst. He opened the door, looked inside—and sighed in relief. His child was laid on her bed, sleeping peacefully. Quietly, he shut the door and explained it to Christine.

"Oh, poor thing," Christine commented, "she must have been very tired. I think I should come back later, Erik."

"Of course, Christine," Erik replied. "Come, I will show you a way back that will not require for us to take the boat."

Erik then promptly led Christine down a short passageway. The two walked in silence, and did not say anything when they arrived back at Christine's room. Erik only looked at her, and then left. When he arrived back at his lair, he swiftly made his way to Charisse's room.

But, he did not find her in the same position as when he left. Instead, his child was now sitting up, fear written all over her face. She looked up when Erik entered her room—and started crying. Erik could only guess that she had had a nightmare. He found no other reason for his child to be crying.

However, he could not bring himself to comfort her. Erik knew that fathers were not meant to leave their children when they most required them—but he wasn't a typical father. He turned to leave—but that only resulted in Charisse letting out a small cry.

"Father…"

But Erik only sighed, walked out of his daughter's room and closed the door.

Why should Charisse have his empathy when she was not being to Christine?

'_I cannot comfort someone who is a little devil. She is only acting to earn my attention—I am sure of it. Well, she shall not receive it.'_

**--**

**CHAPTER FOUR COMPLETE.**

**You know what? Writing in Erik's point of view wasn't so hard to write in. So, now you know Erik's feelings on his child. Tell me please, your opinions on this, in your reviews (hint for more reviewers there). **

**Yunagirlamy, 7.10.09.**


	6. Tears of Anger

**Author's Notes: Haha, I was watching **_**The Phantom of the Opera **_**two days ago (I have it on my computer), and then my Dad comes upstairs, switches on my telly—and **_**Hairspray**_** was on. So I watched **_**Hairspray**_** because it had people who could **_**actually**_** sing. Yes—I just went there. Anyway; this chapter will be from Charisse's and Christine's point of view!**

**Summary: Christine and Raoul have been married for four years and have a three-year-old son. It is five years after the events at the opera house. But those events come knocking on Christine's door in the form of a teenage girl. Who is she and what link does she have to the past?**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and this storyline.**

**-- is a scene change or a different point of view.**

**Chapter Five: Tears of Anger.**

**--**

_What_—but—_but_… how could he _do_ that?!

Charisse stared at the closed door; her mouth agape and tears streaming down her face—before, they were tears of fright, but now, they were tears of anger. _Why_ had her father just _left_ her—he had seen the condition she was in!

Then Charisse realised.

_It was because she had insulted Miss Daaé_.

Her own _father_ wouldn't attend to her because she had called Miss Daaé a name of which she _deserved_! Because of that… _stupid cow_… her father would not comfort her. Charisse knew that she herself was stupid for bringing Miss Daaé—but if she wanted her father back to the man he used to be, then it _had_ to be done.

Charisse wiped her tears away as if they were scum tarnishing her face, and began to breathe fast and heavily. She looked around her room. Charisse then remembered that she had left a book right by her bed on the floor. She leant over the side of her bed and reached down—successfully retrieving the hardback book.

She sat with it in her hands.

Did she _really_ want to do this?

_Yes_.

But if she _did_—he would be even _angrier_.

Maybe he wasn't there.

Did she really _care_ if he was there or not?

_No_.

She smirked—something which she was regularly doing these days.

Charisse put the book in her right hand – for that was her more powerful arm – held it up in the arm—and threw it as hard as she could at the door. The book hit the door with a loud _bang_, and then fell to the floor with an even louder _thud_.

She expected Erik to come waltzing in.

She waited and waited—but he never came.

Charisse decided to investigate. She quietly slipped off her bed, and walked over to the door, picking the book up. She chucked it over to her bed, where it landed with a quiet thump. Charisse turned back round to the face the door; she placed her hand on the door handle. Now, was this a _dangerous_ step to take? Especially just after throwing that book? It must not have been, because her father didn't come.

Charisse decided it was best to not stay there a second longer. She pushed the door handle down and quickly opened the door, and stepped out the door. She twisted round and closed the door—before she could turn back round again, she heard her father's voice.

"Child. How far are you going to go before you break me?"

Charisse raised an eyebrow in question. What on _earth_ did he mean by that?

"I do not know what you mean, Father."

Charisse suddenly found herself facing her father—who didn't seem all that angry.

"You know _exactly_ what I mean, child."

"I'm afraid I really don't." Charisse knew she was infuriating her father—however; she took pride in the fact that she alone was able to enrage Erik. Yes, she knew the consequences, but as far as Charisse was concerned, the consequences could go and… well, it was too rude to repeat.

Erik sighed deeply, and Charisse could not help but smirk. Unfortunately for Charisse, this did not go unnoticed.

"What the _hell_ are you smirking for, you silly girl?"

Charisse instantly frowned and crossed her arms. There was that godamn term again. Maybe Erik was beginning to think it was her name instead of Charisse. Well, she hoped he damn well didn't. "Nothing of your interest," Charisse told Erik.

"I assume you must not be willing to tell me then?"

Well, of course not. Was that not obvious or something? Miss Daaé must have been rubbing off on Erik.

"You _do_ have a brain, don't you, Father?"

Charisse immediately regretted saying that, as within a matter of seconds, she was on the floor; leaning on her left arm, and a great amount of pain in her right cheek. She gasped softly and gently placed her hand on her cheek—she then pushed herself up into a sitting position using her left hand.

It was a few moments before she deciphered what had just happened—and when she did, she could not believe it.

Her _father_ had just slapped her!

"You may be able to say such things to Christine and get away with it," Erik turned as if he couldn't bear to look at her anymore, "but you will _never_ be able to get away with it with _me_."

"I thought you promised never to harm me…" Charisse hated herself for sounding as weak as she did. She absolutely _detested_ any signs of weakness!

"That promised died when _you_ died!"

Charisse looked at her father, confusion written all over her face. "What the hell do you mean by that?" But Erik did not answer and simply walked away. Within seconds, the sounds of the organ filled the lair. Charisse sighed and weakly stood up. That slap really did knock the wind out of her!

But she was not bothered by that—more so by what her father said.

_Dead_?

She definitely was not dead!

So why did Erik think that she _was_?

Did Erik _want_ her dead?

Charisse quickly rid her mind of _that_ thought. He would never want his own daughter dead! Would he…?

Charisse looked at her father furiously playing the organ, and then to the secret passageway that led up to Miss Daaé's room. With Erik playing the organ, he would not notice Charisse slipping away to talk with Miss Daaé.

Sighing, Charisse headed up the passageway.

Maybe it wouldn't hurt to put on a little act, however. She _was_ quite good at faking tears. And maybe a teensy-weensy lie wouldn't hurt either.

--

Christine sat on her bed, reading a book she had bought from home. She would have gone back to the Phantom's lair ages ago to talk with Miss Muhlheim—_no_, Charisse, but she got so absorbed into the book. Christine did not read it before because she thought the cover to be uninteresting.

Well, she _certainly_ was not going to judge a book by its cover again.

"Miss Daaé?"

Christine immediately looked up from her book—and gasped. Charisse stood there, tears streaming down her cheeks, and on her right cheek in particular, was a very red hand imprint. Only one thing came to Christine's mind—Erik had slapped her.

Christine threw her book to one side, and attended to the poor girl straight away.

"What _happened_ to you?"

She expected to receive an insult as an answer—however; she did not.

"My father," Charisse paused, "_Erik_, slapped me, after I implied he was an idiot."

Christine remembered that Charisse had implied that _she_ was an idiot; but she would never in a million years dream of _slapping_ her! Christine felt _so_ sorry for the young girl. Charisse had obviously been hurt emotionally from the slap as well, as to be calling Erik by his first name.

"You called Erik by his first name? Why?" Christine led Charisse to sit down on the bed.

"Because… I don't recognise him as my father anymore."

Christine did not say anything. What _could_ she say?

"He said he wants me to be dead."

Christine's hands flew straight to her mouth. How could a father say such a thing to his own daughter?!

"Why did he say that?"

Charisse shrugged, and replied, "I have no idea, Miss Daaé."

"Oh, well what are you going to do about it?" Because if Charisse wasn't, then Christine certainly was!

"Nothing, Miss Daaé. And I should advise you _not_ to do anything, either, because there are—"

"Worse things than a shattered chandelier, I know," Christine interrupted—she knew it was quite improper of her to do so, but she simply did not care. "Well, if you wish. I can't promise it." The young girl immediately glared at Christine.

"If I were you then, Miss Daaé," Charisse stood up, and walked over to the door, "I should be soon expecting a shattered chandelier." Charisse then exited the room. Christine sighed. She had _no_ idea what the girl was implying, but Christine knew one thing was sure.

'_This is not going to be good. Oh Erik, you silly fool!'_

**--**

**Yes I know that Christine's is shorter, but oh well. I **_**promise**_** to do a long chapter! I just can't promise that it shall be up by tomorrow, okay? So, tell me if you think Charisse deserved that slap. In your reviews! And yes, I know that Charisse gets in trouble in, like, every chapter--but if you were like that, wouldn't you? And besides, this IS the Victorian times.  
**

**Yunagirlamy, 9.10.09.**


	7. Music of the Night

**Author's Notes: Okay, this is from Erik's point of view, because I have decided it is actually easy to write in his point of view—and two familiar faces will make their way into this chapter, but in Charisse's point of view.**

**Summary: Christine and Raoul have been married for four years and have a three-year-old son. It is five years after the events at the opera house. But those events come knocking on Christine's door in the form of a teenage girl. Who is she and what link does she have to the past?**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and this storyline.**

**-- is a scene change or a different point of view.**

**Chapter Six: Music of the Night.**

**--**

As soon as he knew Charisse was gone, he stopped playing. Emptiness once again drifted over the dark lair. He started to play the organ after he had… he couldn't even bring himself to _think_ the word, as to distract him from he had done. Charisse _must_ have hated him now, and she wasn't the only to.

He loathed himself.

Erik knew he would have _never_ done that when she was younger—so, why did he just do it? He supposed she _did_ deserve it; otherwise he wouldn't have done it. However, Charisse was right. He _did_ promise never to harm her. But he was right too—it was _like_ Charisse had died. In her place was a stranger—someone who just detested Erik altogether.

Why couldn't his child be like she once was? Yes, she _was_ a little annoying—but Erik would rather her be a _little _annoying than _all the time_ annoying. It was even a different kind of annoying. When she was younger, annoying meant giggling nearly every second of the day; never stopping smiling. Now all annoying meant was just plain rudeness, being arrogant, being sarcastic—oh, the list went on!

On the other hand… the normal Charisse did actually show herself earlier. Erik smiled as he remembered; Charisse being sat at the piano, singing _Think of Me_—with her _own_ words, no less! As she sung, Erik could hear the old Charisse coming back. It was such a shame that she had only come up with words for the beginning of the song. Maybe – if Charisse was willing to let him – he could help her thinking the rest of the lyrics. As well as getting Charisse back, it also meant that they would be able to spend some quality time.

Erik knew Charisse would enjoy spending some more quality time together. Maybe that was it. Maybe that was the reason of her change.

It must have been around 1881 since they last spent some time together—now it was 1886. Five years since they had spend any time together. That, in Erik's mind, was _far_ too long. He wondered if all Charisse needed was quality time with her father to return back to her old, happy self.

Last time they had quality time, they had ended writing a song—_Music of the Night_, actually.

Erik smiled, feeling proud of Charisse. Yes, she had only written _some_ of the lyrics, but lyrics were just as important as the music. However, what Charisse hadn't known was that Erik was planning to sing it to Christine. Erik knew that his child thought that he was going to sing it to _her_—someone he loved, not someone he was _in_ love with.

Erik frowned, beginning to feel guilty; his child deserved a _much_ better father. Then again, if Charisse was fathered by someone _else_, then Erik would not have been able to experience the joy she had when she wrote her lyrics for _Music of the Night_.

--

_There was complete silence in the lair as the two habitants were both working—one on words for the music, and the other on the music for the words. Erik, who was working on the music, was rather enjoying the peace; however—he found it was soon shattered, as a young voice shrieked in a high pitched voice:_

"_Father! I've done it!"_

"_Done what, my child?"_

"_I've wrote some words for our song!" _

_Erik could not help but to smile at the amount of delight on Charisse's face. "That's 'written', Charisse."_

"_Sorry."_

"_Well, are you going to share them with me?"_

"_Promise you will not laugh, first."_

_Erik could almost laugh at the solemn in Charisse's voice. _

"_I promise not to laugh."_

"_Thank you. Are you ready?"_

"_Yes." Erik, of course, would not admit he was becoming a little annoyed—but this _was his_ daughter, after all. She wanted her work to be perfect._

"_Good. These are the words I have written: Softly, deftly, music shall caress you. Hear it, feel it, secretly possess you. Well, what do you think, Father?"_

"_Charisse, those words were perfection! I could not have written better words myself."_

"_Thank you, Father!"_

--

Erik sighed and stood up. Charisse was ten-years of age when they had written that song. Ten _was_ the age of which she was when she started changing. Maybe if Erik had a look in her diary, it might just reveal to him _why_ she changed.

Of course, it was just the matter of _where_ her diary actually was. But Erik could find it.

He walked over to her room, and opened the door. He did not bother to shut it—simply for the fact that Charisse was not here, and he knew that she would not be coming back any time soon. Stepping inside, Erik looked around the room. There were a number of places he could look: under the bed, in the wardrobe, in her chest of drawers…

Erik decided to look under the bed, as that was the most obvious. Now, when he looked under there, he wasn't _actually_ expecting to find the diary—but there it was; a small leather book. Erik picked it up, sat on the bed and opened it. He flipped through all the pages until he found the entry he was looking for.

_20__th__ of February, 1881._

_Dear diary,_

_It has now been a month since I became ten-years of age. I feel older as each day passes by. I just wonder how I will look when I am my father's age. Of course, saying that, I am actually not aware of my father's age. However, if I had to guess, I would say his age started with a three. Oh, I seem to be getting off topic here. I think I shall just skip straight to the point here._

_I have written my first lyrics. Yes, not very much—but everybody has got to start somewhere, have they not?_

_My lyrics were for a song my father and I are writing. I can still not believe it even as I write it down. My father – the feared Opera Ghost! – has let me, his only child, write music with him! Oh, how it fills my heart with joy! To think—he spent an evening with me, instead of that Christine Daaé._

… _I cannot believe I just wrote that name._

_I have just wasted ink on that name._

_How vile of me! Oh, I think I shall have to go onto a completely different topic altogether._

_Oh, never mind._

_Father's calling me._

_Signed, Charisse Muhlheim, ten-years of age._

Erik looked up from the book, not completely understanding it. Did Charisse _hate_ Christine? Well, if she did, she had absolutely no reason to! Erik stood up and threw the book on the bed, rage building up vastly. How could _any_one hate an angel like _Christine_? With beauty and a voice to match, it was _impossible_ to hate Christine!

Erik stomped out of Charisse's room, only one thing on mind.

He _wanted_ a serious talk with Charisse—and now he was going to have one. He didn't care if the whole of _Paris_ heard him; he wanted his feelings to be known.

Erik knew where she would be.

--

She sang softly to herself as she sat on the stairs in the hall.

Things were not going the way she had wanted them.

Her father was _not_ supposed to be yelling at her—or slapping her for that matter!

Charisse put a hand to her right cheek. What right did he have to _do_ that? Implying that her father was an idiot was not so bad as to get slapped. Besides, Erik _was_ an idiot. He didn't know it, but he was. But _how_ did he find out that she had called Miss Daaé an idiot?

Well, that was just a question that would have to remain unanswered.

"Oh, how I wish someone would just buy this damn opera house!"

If someone did, then there would be a _lot_ more entertainment; plus her father would be too occupied with being the Opera Ghost and would have no time to yell at her or slap her.

"Maybe I should be more careful," she decided. "I do not want to experience getting slapped again! I didn't even _deserve _it!"

There were people who _should_ get slapped, though. Charisse knew _exactly_ who should get slapped. They _fully_ deserved it.

_Miss Daaé_.

Charisse could think of plenty of reasons. She wouldn't go through them all—there were too many.

She could, however, think hateful thoughts of Miss Daaé.

Charisse became so distracted that she did not see two ladies enter through the entrance to the Opera Populaire. She only became aware of their presence when one of them spoke up.

"Charisse?"

Charisse stood up, startled. She glanced to the entrance—and immediately smiled when she saw who was standing there.

Madam Giry and her daughter, Meg Giry.

"Why are you two here?" Charisse was happy to see them again—but absolutely baffled as to why they were there. She walked down the steps until she reached the floor. Charisse stood there, her arms crossed and a smile still on her face. "I hope you aware that no one owns the opera house."

"They do now," Madam Giry answered, a smirk on her elderly face.

It took a few moments for Charisse to realise what she meant.

"Do you mean… you two have _brought_ the opera house?" Charisse asked.

"You are correct," Madam Giry replied. "The opera house was not at all expensive."

"And are you _surprised_ by that, Madam Giry?" Charisse enquired, raising an eyebrow. She, for one, was not surprised that the Opera Populaire was cheap—it was, after all, to be expected, after Erik had kidnapped Christine during _Don Juan Triumphant_. No one had _dared_ to even go near the opera house after Erik's deformity had been revealed.

"No, I am not surprised at all." Madam Giry walked around Charisse (who was wondering just what on earth Madam Giry was _doing_) and then stopped in her previous. "What I _am_ surprised at, however, is how much you have grown."

"Madam Giry, I have not grown much in the last five years," Charisse commentated. "In the eyes of my father, I am nothing but a child."

"That may be so, but to me, you look like a woman."

"Thank you, Madam Giry."

"Why is there a red mark on your cheek?" Meg suddenly blurted out; a curious look upon her face.

Charisse sighed and uncrossed her arms. She supposed it _was_ going to be questioned sooner or later (Charisse, if she had to choose, would have had it later, rather than sooner). She opened her mouth to speak—but a loud, angry voice spoke before her.

"Charisse Alaine Muhlheim! I know you are here!"

Charisse winced. Her father only used her full name when she was _really_ in trouble—however, whatever had she done _now_? She couldn't have done anything; she was sitting on the steps, singing to herself. Charisse knew that _definitely_ was not something which she should get in trouble for.

Charisse was about answer her father when she felt an immense amount of pain in her right cheek. She looked up—and saw her father standing there, not looking happy at all. In fact, rather furious. Charisse realised that her right cheek was hurting because, once again, her father had slapped her.

Who the hell did he think he was, slapping her two times in one day?!

Well, furious father or not, Charisse was going to give him a piece of her mind.

"Father! What makes you think you have the right to _slap_ me? And two times, no less!"

Erik was about to reply, when Madam Giry spoke.

"Hello, Erik."

Charisse watched as her father turned to face Madam Giry; she expected his expression to change, but it stayed just the same.

"Greetings, Antoinette. What are you and your," Erik's eyes landed on Meg (who backed away slightly in fear), "daughter doing here?"

"Much to your displeasure, _Erik_, we have brought the opera house. So it now belongs to Meg and I."

Charisse heard her father swear faintly, and then he turned his attention back on her. Charisse cried out in pain as Erik grabbed her wrist—and rather forcibly, too.

"I want a _private_ talk with you, now."

Charisse could do nothing as her father dragged her off to another part of the opera house. She only hoped even more pain would not come out of this. She did, however, have a slight suspicion of what – or rather, _who_ – this was about.

'_So I wonder what it is that I have done to Miss Daaé now.'_

**--**

**CHAPTER SIX COMPLETE.**

**Charisse and Alaine are **_**both**_** French names, just so you know—I'm not making them up. So, Charisse has once again received a slap, but because she hates Christine. Yeah, it's the realistic thing for Erik to do. Yes, I know am portraying that Erik loves Christine more than he does Charisse, but you know—that's the whole point. So, tell me what you think of this chapter! Maybe some nice, **_**long**_** reviews? Hehe.**

**Yunagirlamy, 11.10.09.**


	8. Apologies and Lies

**Author's Notes: It has come to my attention, ladies and gentlemen, that there is a mistake within this story. In this story, I have been calling the opera house the "Opera Populaire". The reason for this is that I have only ever seen the film. However, because I have set my story in the 1986 West End musical, I decided that I should look up the musical—to see what differences there were. During this research, I happened upon a name. "Opera Garnier". I realised that this was the name of the opera house in the musical. I have thought about this matter, and wondered if I should change the name. But I will not. As long as everyone is aware that is the Michael Crawford and Sarah Brightman, Erik and Christine, then that is fine. There is also another matter that I have to address. But I shall address it at the ending author's notes. Chapter is from Charisse's point of view.**

**Summary: Christine and Raoul have been married for four years and have a three-year-old son. It is five years after the events at the opera house. But those events come knocking on Christine's door in the form of a teenage girl. Who is she and what link does she have to the past?**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and this storyline.**

**-- is a scene change or a different point of view.**

**Chapter Seven: Apologies and Lies.**

**--**

The hand clasped tightly around her wrist finally lifted—and Charisse could not help but let out a sigh of relief. However, her wrist was throbbing with pain. That was no matter though. She knew it would stop aching… _eventually_.

But all thoughts of her hurting wrist were pushed to the back of her mind as her father commanded her with one word.

"_Sit_."

Charisse immediately obeyed, knowing that Erik had guided her to a position where she would safely land on something. Just _what_ that something was—Charisse realised a few seconds later. She was sitting on the bed in the room of which Miss Daaé was occupying.

_But where was Miss Daaé_?

What was even more puzzling was the fact that there were no signs that Miss Daaé had _ever_ been here. Charisse gazed around the room in bewilderment; her father misinterpreted it.

"Stop looking as if you have never seen this room before, child."

"But I was not gazing around in that—"

"_Quiet_!" Her father's angry voice cut her off. "Did I give you permission to speak?"

Permission to speak?! Charisse gathered that her father was more than furious with her—she had never needed permission to speak before. Why should she _now_? However, she did not want to enrage her father further – however tempting the idea was – so she shook her head.

"Correct. From now on, and I _mean_ this, Charisse," Charisse noticed how her father said her name—as if he were speaking of something vile, "whenever I am in the same room as you, you do not speak, except for when _I _say you can. Understood?"

Charisse slowly nodded her head—and was trying to hide the scowl that was making its way onto her face. She could not scowl now. That would result in more being yelled at; although, she had to admit, Erik was not yelling at her—_yet_.

"Good. Now, I apologise for slapping you. My temper got the better of me."

Charisse thought of that as a pathetic excuse. Hell, he probably _enjoyed_ slapping her!

"When I first slapped you, I was horrified with myself."

And so he _should_ be!

"However, I started to wonder why you had changed."

Charisse looked her father with a puzzled expression. _Changed_? She'd never changed.

"So I went to your room, and found your diary. And then I started to read it."

Charisse switched from confused to furious immediately; and lost _all_ respect for her father (there wasn't much anyway). She didn't care about this permission to speak thing. So she opened her mouth and shouted at her father, "What the hell makes you think that you have the right to read my diary?!"

Her father glared at her. "You seem to have forgotten my new rule. Speak out again, and I'll make sure you don't forget it _next_ time."

Charisse's hands instantly flew to her backside. Her cheek red and hurting was more than enough.

"Good girl. I am your father and you _will_ do as I say—whether you like it or _not_." Erik walked over to the corner, grabbed the chair from there and placed it in front of Charisse, and then he sat down on it. "As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted, I was reading your diary entry of the 20th of February, 1881."

The 20th of February 1881? Charisse racked her mind, trying to remember what had happened on that day.

"You look as if you are trying to remember. I shall remind you of what you wrote in that entry. You were writing of the joy you had of me allowing you to write a song with me. Do you remember it?"

Charisse nodded. She fully remembered what song it was. The song that her father was meant to sing to _her_—but instead, he sung it to Miss Daaé.

"Then tell me what the song was."

"Music of the Night," Charisse answered.

"Correct. Further on in the entry, I read your delight at how I had spent the evening with you instead of 'that Christine Daaé'," Erik made speech mark signs with his hands. "Then you wrote how you could not believe you had written her name, and you thought that you had wasted ink upon her name."

Charisse knew where this was heading. Her father had found out that she hated Miss Daaé. But why would her father be so angry about _that_? She _was_ allowed to have her own opinions… wasn't she?

Erik leaned in, his face just inches from Charisse's.

"You _hate_ Christine, don't you?"

Charisse knew if there ever was a good time to lie, it was now. She would just have to try and hide the tears that would inevitably come.

"Father, how could I _ever_ hate Miss Daaé?" Charisse widened her eyes and clasped her hand over her mouth. She _definitely_ did not mean for that sentence to be said so sarcastically. "I'm sorry, Father! I did not mean to say it like that!"

"You're lying again, child! I can see the tears in your eyes."

Charisse shook her head. There _were_ no tears in her eyes! If there was, she would have felt them. "Father, there _is_ none!"

"Are you accusing _me_ of lying?"

"No! I'm just stating a fact."

"It did not sound that way to me."

Charisse scowled. She was getting annoyed—rapidly. She _hated_ the fact that this argument was over Miss Daaé! That girl was more trouble then she was worth.

"I was not calling you a bloody liar!"

"Charisse! Watch your language!"

"Don't you rather think that'd be a _bit_ hard? Besides, I am entitled to say whatever I like." She could say whatever the hell she wanted. Regardless of whether it was swearing or not. She knew Erik was not going to be very happy with her—but to be honest, she didn't give a _damn_. "And that permission to speak thing is just as stupid as _you_ are!"

_Oops_.

She had _not_ meant to say _that_! Now she would be in even _more_ trouble than she was before. However, she did not bother to apologise—she knew it wouldn't really work. Charisse knew she was _definitely_ going to receive a slap, though.

She looked down and waited for the blow… but it never came.

Charisse looked up—and blinked in surprise.

Her father had _vanished_!

"What… the… _hell_?!" Charisse exclaimed, slowly standing up. How could her father just disappear like that? After a few seconds, she had remembered. "Of course. He _was_ the Opera Ghost…"

But why did he go? It just did not make sense.

"At least I didn't get slapped…" Charisse muttered to herself as she left the room. There was now the tiny problem of how she was going to occupy herself. She would have gone back down to the vaults, but to be honest; she was not very fond of that place at the moment. Not because of _what_ was there, but because of _who_ could be there.

Charisse walked the hallways as her young mind thought carefully. Whatever she chose to do, it _had_ to be something that would annoy _some_one—who wasn't her father. And someone who wouldn't tell her father. The last thing that she needed was to be in _more_ trouble. Charisse had no doubt she was going to receive one _hell_ of a lecture when she eventually was the same room as Erik again.

_Miss Daaé_; she would definitely tell Erik. Hell, even if she didn't, Erik would _still_ find out!

_Madam Giry_; Charisse knew she definitely would too—and whilst Erik would really not be _too_ bothered about it, Charisse would still face the wrath of Madam Giry. She'd already been there once, and did not wish to go down that road once more.

Charisse smiled mischievously as there was only one person left.

_Meg Giry_.

Charisse could do more than just annoy her—she could _scare_ her!

'_Oh, _this_ is going to be so much fun!'_

**--**

**CHAPTER SEVEN COMPLETE.**

**I'm sorry! I'm late with this chapter, I know! This took me forever, but you see, I got a case of writer's block. Terrible thing it is. RIGHT. The other issue I was going to address which I am going to address now.**

**The musical begins in 1881. We don't know what month it starts in, however. Charisse was ten in the musical and she is now fifteen—meaning exactly five years have passed. HOWEVER, there is a line in **_**Entr'acte **_**which goes, "the prologue to a bright new year…"**

**I want you to FORGET that line, okay? This is how my timeline goes:**

**1881, February: Charrise is ten, and Christine meets the Phantom for the first time, and then you know the rest… chandelier comes crashing down.**

**1881, August, SIX months after the chandelier has come crashing down: Masquerade and so on. **

**Yes I know it was snowing in the film, but this is the musical, not the film.**

**Right.**

**I hope that clears things up a bit.**

**Review please!**

**Yunagirlamy, 24.10.09.**


	9. Old Friends Meet Once More

**Author's Notes: The reason for the lateness of this chapter? Well, I have not received any reviews for last chapter and I should think I have given it enough time. I am confused as to **_**why**_** I didn't receive any reviews, but HOPEFULLY, I can receive some reviews this chapter.**

**Summary: Christine and Raoul have been married for four years and have a three-year-old son. It is five years after the events at the opera house. But those events come knocking on Christine's door in the form of a teenage girl. Who is she and what link does she have to the past?**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and this storyline.**

**-- is a scene change or a different point of view.**

**Chapter Eight: Old Friends Meet Once More.**

**--**

Christine stood on the stage, her blue eyes closed. A smile came onto her face as she imagined hearing the fantastic orchestra; the audience's applauds—and beautiful singing voices. Without realising it, Christine opened her mouth and started to sing. It was not any specific song—just a song she had heard in her childhood years.

But of course, all fantasies have to end soon. Christine's was ended by a familiar voice speaking.

"_Christine_? Is that really you?"

Christine quickly turned round and her smile grew bigger when she saw her old friend—Meg Giry. The two girls stood staring at each other in amazement for a moment, and then simultaneously ran towards each other, and they threw their arms around the other tightly. Christine was the first to speak.

"Meg, I can't believe you are here!"

"I can't believe you're here either, Christine!"

They drew back from the embrace, and smiled at each other.

"So what are you doing here, Meg?" Christine enquired.

"You're not going to believe it, Christine."

"Meg, I should think after what has happened to me, I can believe anything," Christine argued. Meg blew out a defeated breath—Christine smiled triumphantly.

"Well… my mother has brought the opera house."

Christine's jaw dropped open in shock. So the rumours were _right_! Two ladies _were_ interested in buying the opera house, and how amazing that it turned out to be Madam Giry and her daughter! Christine could not think of anyone better to own the opera house.

"Meg, that is fantastic!"

Meg smiled and looked around her.

"Even though I was raised here, I've never actually took in the beauty of this place."

Christine smiled back. "Yes. It is wonderful, isn't it?"

--

_Wonderful_?

This place was _wonderful_?

Well, at the moment, it wasn't.

Charisse sneered at the two idiots below her—she was currently situated on the platform with all the ropes. She was happy that the both of them were blissfully unaware that they were being watched. However, there was a problem. Charisse needed Meg to be alone in order to scare her. So how was she going to get _Miss Daaé_ out of the picture? Charisse leaned on a wooden rail as she thought about this.

"Maybe I could just… _wait_… but then again—that'd be too boring! And I want entertainment!" Charisse muttered quietly to herself.

Suddenly, Meg spoke.

"I'm sorry, Christine, but I have to be somewhere else. I have to help my mother; we want to open the opera house in a month's time."

Charisse smiled. Now Meg would be alone—all alone with no one to protect her. It was as if the opportunity was calling out to Charisse; she climbed down off the platform and followed Meg down the hallway. When Meg was halfway the hall, Charisse hid herself behind a section of wall.

"Greetings, Meg Giry," Charisse said eerily in a fake English accent. Charisse peeked her head a little out of the section of the wall—the darkness was hiding her face. She giggled a little as Meg instantly turned around, her eyes as wide as saucers.

"W-Who's there?"

"A good question is that, Meg Giry," Charisse answered, carefully considering her answer. "I am not a being of this world, and yet I live and breathe."

Charisse knew that would make Meg confused—and Charisse loved that! Oh, how she enjoyed being smart.

"What?" came a squeak from Meg. "I don't understand."

Charisse smiled once more and hid herself behind the wall again.

"Of course you would not understand. You are nothing but a simple human being." Charisse praised herself as she thought the next part of her answer. "I, however, do not reside here without a reason. I chose humans—for haunting every single night."

Meg did not answer, but instead, gasped.

Charisse grinned—Meg was truly terrified now, but then again, it didn't take much for Meg to be frightened. Charisse was simply having too much fun with this and she knew that Meg would not be able to sleep easy tonight.

"It is not worth you trying to escape from the opera house—I am everywhere, night and day; and I am _always_ watching my victims." Charisse bit her lip to prevent a giggle from emerging past her lips. "Run as far away as you can or I shall be forced to reveal myself to you!" Charisse smiled proudly at her ability to create such a believable English accent.

Meg quickly turned and ran away, and Charisse stepped out of the shadows; hands on her hips and a victorious smile upon her face. However, the smile soon vanished when someone behind her cleared their throat. Charisse paled and slowly turned to glance over her shoulder—and this time, it was Charisse who was frightened for there stood her father, glaring coldly down at her.

Why did he always turn up at the most inopportune moments?

--

Her feet steadily walked down the majestic stairway, careful not to make a noise; her hand glided smoothly down the handrail. Christine was doing what she had never been able to do before and that was exploring the opera house. So far she had explored the stage, many hallways; and now the entrance. The Opera Populaire was a big place and Christine intended to see it all. She knew that Madam Giry would not mind, for she would probably understand how Christine felt.

But yet again, Christine's tranquil had to be shattered—this time it was the sound of footsteps quickly approaching, and then, they suddenly stopped. Christine half-turned, and saw Meg. Christine noticed that Meg looked like she had just seen a ghost. Christine frowned. Had Meg seen Erik?

"Meg, whatever is the matter?" Christine rushed up to Meg. "You look as if you have seen a ghost!"

"I have, Christine!" Meg answered, tears in her eyes. "I… I thought it was gone—but it's still here, Christine!"

"What do you mean, Meg?" All the while, Christine was begging in her head for Meg not to say those three words.

"The Opera Ghost!"

"Are you sure about that, Meg?"

"Yes, Christine! I'm positive of it!" Meg nodded her head vigorously. "It even spoke to me, Christine! It said it was going to haunt me!"

Christine knitted her eyebrows together in confusion. Why would Erik scare someone so quickly?

"Tell me, Meg. What did it look like?"

"Well, I didn't see it for very long but I saw half a white face. It was strange though…" Meg looked off to the side, as if she was contemplating something.

"_What_ was strange, Meg?" Christine asked.

"It… sounded female, yet looked male."

"What?" Christine was now completely confused. How could someone sound female but look male? Unless… but, _she_ wouldn't do _that_, right? But after what Christine had already seen of the girl, it was not impossible. Christine sighed deeply and closed her eyes. "Meg… I think I know what happened."

"You _do_, Christine?!"

Christine opened her eyes and nodded, causing her brown, curly hair to stir slightly.

"Do you know who Charisse is?"

"Yes, Christine I do. She's Erik's daughter. What does she have to with anything?"

Christine was shocked. Meg knew who Erik was but not the Opera Ghost? It was very weird.

"Well, think about the voice you heard. What did it sound like?" Christine asked, trying to work all this out. She was sure that it was Charisse who had frightened Meg so and besides, Meg _had _said that the voice was female. Meg's eyes widened with fright and she went pale. Obviously, it was not a voice that she wanted to hear again.

"Oh, Christine! It was truly horrible! But the strange thing is… it had an English accent… but the accent sounded… as if it was… faked!" Christine saw that Meg was realising the truth. "It was Charisse, wasn't it, Christine?"

"It could very well have been. I'm not ruling it out," Christine replied. "It's just the thing I would expect her to do. And I suspect that the male you saw was Erik. It makes sense, Meg."

Meg nodded, understanding.

"Just wait until I get hold of that girl, Christine! She scared me ever so much, and I want to make her pay!"

Christine looked off to the side.

"I should expect that she already _is_ paying…"

'_Once I would have felt pity for the girl… but now I do not.'_

**--**

**CHAPTER EIGHT COMPLETE.**

**Hello! Merry Christmas! I had a lot of writer's block, so I just decided to stop there. It's just a filler chapter, really. Don't worry; we'll be getting to serious business soon! Oh-ho, just you wait and see what I have planned for this story! I have a sequel planned as well AND I am writing a Christmas story with a younger, NICE (that's right, NICE) Charisse! PLEASE REVIEW. Thanks!**

**Yunagirlamy, 19.12.09.**


	10. Angels Argue

**Author's Notes: Yay! People finally reviewed! Right then! Totally Charisse and Erik focused. **

**Summary: Christine and Raoul have been married for four years and have a three-year-old son. It is five years after the events at the opera house. But those events come knocking on Christine's door in the form of a teenage girl. Who is she and what link does she have to the past?**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and this storyline.**

**-- is a scene change or a different point of view.**

**Chapter Nine: Angels Argue.**

**--**

Erik glared coldly down at his child; his anger only being evident in the left side of his face. He had his arms crossed and said nothing. He knew his body language had intimidated Charisse and rendered her speechless upon seeing him. So with Charisse being silent (which was a rarity these days) he decided to speak.

"What the _hell_ were you doing, child? Don't you think you have caused _enough_ trouble, without frightening poor Meg?" As Erik expected, he received no reply. "Come with me. If you're lucky, I _won't_ make your backside sore!"

Charisse's green eyes widened and she shook her head, her brown ringlets gently hitting her face. "I was _bored_, Father…"

Erik swiftly turned Charisse round and delivered a hard swat to her backside. Charisse cried out, which was an unusual reaction for her. Erik turned Charisse back round, held her by the shoulders and shook her. "Did I _say_ you could speak, child?!" Erik yelled, his face turning red. Charisse timidly shook her head. "Then _why_ did you?! Thought you were being _smart_?!" Erik saw that Charisse was starting to tear up, so he let go of her but firmly grabbed her left hand in his right hand.

He dragged her down back into their home and as soon as they arrived, Erik threw Charisse onto the floor forcefully. She let out a cry once more as her body came into contact with the hard ground.

"Get up," Erik demanded.

"But you… threw—"

"I said get up, child!"

Charisse nodded and slowly got up. Once she was stood up, Erik stormed over to her and promptly slapped her hard on the cheek, the sound echoing around the underground lair. The slap resulted in Charisse landing on the floor again. It was at that point that she just lay on the floor and started to weep.

Erik sighed heavily and picked her up by the arm. Tears were now rolling down Charisse's cheeks, but Erik really did not care. No one showed compassion for him when _he_ cried because of his parents—why should he show compassion to Charisse?

Erik shoved Charisse into a chair and then stood in front; his arms crossed and his brown and ice blue eyes stared down at his child. Charisse shifted uncomfortably under his gaze and kept her own green eyes to the floor, avoiding eye contact with her father.

Erik started to speak, his voice booming around the lair.

"I have much to talk about, Charisse. You are going to be _quiet _and _listen_ to me! Am I understood?"

Charisse nodded her head and started to twirl a lock of her hair in-between her thumb and index finger.

"Good. Now, I have been putting this off for until I calmed down and it is fair to say, that I think I have _slightly_ calmed down. So here's the question: do you hate Christine?"

Charisse stopped messing with her hair and glanced up at Erik for a moment – and then timidly shrugged. It enraged Erik but he did not show it. He didn't want to do something that he'd regret, so he controlled his temper.

"Answer me properly!" he snapped. Well, it was certainly better than lashing out at her. Erik decided that Charisse had enough violence inflicted upon her – but he couldn't help the previous times. He was angry with Charisse because she wasn't acting like herself… or maybe this _was_ herself. Had he ignored her in the past five years that he didn't notice a change in her? Suddenly, Erik felt the heavy burden of guilt upon his shoulders. He felt as if the whole world was crumbling all around him. His daughter must have been going through difficult times – and all he did was ignore her. Push her away when she needed him the most. It was _his_ fault that Charisse had changed and there was nothing he could do about it. She would _never_ forgive him.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I did not mean to snap at you. I just want the _truth_, Charisse."

"… Yes," Charisse answered in a small voice. "Yes, I do hate her."

"But _why_, Charisse? How could you hate an angel?" Erik just did not understand it. _He_ was the one Charisse should hate – not _Christine_!

Anger flashed in Charisse's eyes at his question. She stood up, accidently knocking the chair to the floor.

"_Angel_?!" Charisse retorted. "Father, she is no angel! Can you not see what she has done to _me_?! You're blinded by your love for her! You'd rather—"

"_Enough!_" Erik roared and Charisse promptly silenced, a fearful expression upon her face. "I will _not_ have you saying such things about Christine!"

"You're not even _married _to her!" Charisse screamed. "Why do you defend her so, when she's not even _yours_?!" With every word Charisse said, Erik became grew angrier. He placed his hands on Charisse's shoulders and pushed up her against the wall.

"_Because_, Charisse," Erik began, "Love _never_ dies! When you are older, you'll understand that!"

"Did you _ever_ love my _mother_?"

Erik blinked, taken aback. He did not expect _that_ question! However, he knew he couldn't lie to Charisse.

"I _never_ loved your mother!" Erik replied – _perhaps too harshly_.

Charisse sharply drew in her breath; all rage drained from her face and her eyes flickered around wildly.

"… _Never_?" Charisse questioned, her voice as soft as a feather. "So I was… just a mistake? I wasn't even meant to be born?"

Erik was suddenly laden with that feeling called guilt once more – now he regretted ever telling the truth. Yes, Charisse _was_ just a mistake; but _the_ best mistake in the world! Life without Charisse… Erik just couldn't imagine it. She was the one person in the world who loved him – and he didn't even _ask_ for her love. _He_ unconditionally loved his child.

Erik dropped his hands to his sides and then brought Charisse into a hug; any feelings of fury now faded away. Charisse buried her head into his shoulder and in response; Erik wrapped his arms around her tighter and ran his hand down her brown hair. Erik felt Charisse begin to shake with sobs and so, he guided her over to a chair and sat down, settling Charisse on his lap. She immediately wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her head once into his shoulder.

Erik could not stand it any longer.

"Please, Charisse. Don't cry. It pains me to see you cry."

"I apol—"

"_No_. Don't you _dare_ apologise for crying."

Charisse lifted her head up and gingerly wiped away the tears streaming down her face. Pushing Erik away, she stood up and walked a few steps in the opposite way, facing the wall.

--

She closed her eyes and deeply sighed. This was all too much for her – not only did her father never love her mother, but she had just practically broken down in front of her father! She felt so ashamed! All she wanted to do was hide herself away; but if she sought answers, then she needed to ask the necessary questions. With a new found bravery, she swivelled round and faced her father.

"If… if you never loved my mother… then how did I come to be born?"

She saw that her father immediately paled, nearly as white the mask on his face – and then she knew she wasn't going to get an answer.

"We'll talk about that when I know you're ready."

"To know the truth?"

"Yes. But for now, I think it would be best you have some rest."

Charisse frowned; that definitely was _not_ a suggestion. Her father's tone was firm; he stood up with his arms crossed – and then Charisse _knew_ that she was going to bed, whether she liked it or. She wondered for a moment if her father was actually punishing her.

"I think it would also be wise to perhaps stay in your room for a few hours, too."

That confirmed it. Charisse felt like _fuming_! He was treating her like a _child_ – sending her to her room! The last time she was sent to her room was when she was _seven_; and that was for running rampage around the opera house (it really wasn't her fault that she got into the sugar). Now what was it for? Scaring Meg? Talking back to her father?

And then it dawned on her.

It was for hating Miss Daaé!

Oh, how she felt like growling in frustration and screaming and _yelling_! _Everything_ was Miss Daaé _this_, Miss Daaé _that_! When would it _stop_ being about _Miss Daaé_?! It seemed as if she would never be able to escape from Miss Daaé!

"Are you going to be staying here, Father?"

"_Yes_. I _am_. Now do as I say."

She disappointedly sighed and shuffled over to her room. She shut the door behind her and then glanced all around the room. It was so depressing.

Brown, stone walls stuck out randomly (that had been the source of many of Charisse's accidents in her younger years), an equally brown floor with a Persian rug lying diagonally in front of her double bed. The bed had four cushions and one big pillow spread out at the top, all light blue. The thick quilt had extravagant patterns – although not Persian. A full-length mirror stood in a far corner, the reflection being most of the room. An oak dresser was next to the mirror, holding Charisse's clothes, plus other things.

Charisse sighed, walked over to her bed and climbed onto it. She lay on her back and stared up at the ceiling. She had to admit; whilst the room itself was terrible, she was lucky for having the contents. It was only because her father used to be paid a lot of money and when Charisse was younger, her father would spoil her rotten and Charisse had to confess – she used to be something of a spoilt brat.

--

"_Fa-ther!"_

_Erik winced as the loud cries of his ten-year-old pierced his ears. He set down the quill and twisted around so that he was facing Charisse. Her hands were clasped behind her back and a smile (one that looked devious to Erik) was upon her face. Erik sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose._

"_What have your greedy little eyes seen this time, Charisse?"_

_Charisse unclasped her hands, walked up to her father and placed her hands on her father's knees._

"_I saw a dress and—"_

"_How much did it cost?"_

"_It's really beautiful and it's my favourite colour and—"_

"_How much does it bloody cost?!"_

_Charisse shut her mouth and frowned, her eyes downcast. When she spoke again, it was so quiet, that Erik was sure that not even a dog would have been able to hear it. _

"_Say that again, Charisse – and so that I can actually hear you!"_

_Charisse looked up._

"_Erm… it's a thousand francs."_

"_A THOUSAND?! Charisse, you must be insane! I'm not wasting a thousand francs on a dress that you'll eventually rip and get dirty!"_

"_Oh, but Father! I wouldn't rip it, nor would I get it dirty! I need this dress!"_

"_You NEED it?! Never have I heard such nonsense! You don't need it, you want it. And being so spoilt, which I admit is my fault; you think that I'll gladly just pass over my money! Well this time, I'm putting my foot down and saying no!"_

_Charisse's eyes welled up with tears and she smacked her hands down on her father's knees. She was going to repeat the action, but Erik swiftly grabbed her wrists and narrowed his eyes at her. _

"_Do that again and I will put you over my knees. Am I clear?"_

_Charisse nodded as a stray tear rolled down her cheek._

"_Crying only proves you're spoilt."_

"_No… because you're yelling."_

"_Well, I apologise, but you're not having that dress."_

_Charisse stomped her foot and let out a yell of frustration. _

--

Charisse let out a chuckle at the memory and rolled onto her side, facing the door. Maybe it would have been wise to apologise – only for frightening Meg, though. She would _never_ apologise for her feelings on Miss Daaé.

Charisse pushed herself up and listened out for her father. She couldn't hear anything, so she walked over to the door and knelt by it; leaning her ear up against the door. Soon, she heard her father playing the piano. The melody which he was playing was soft and sweet – but it was also haunting. The tune would definitely fit a female voice – Charisse listened some more – and it was definitely an aria. Charisse was unaware that because of the pressure she was applying to the door, the latch was becoming loose. Charisse soon found out though; the door opened and, with a cry of surprise, she fell onto her front. As she was pushing herself up, the sound of the piano ceased and was replaced by the sound of her father's footsteps. Charisse pushed herself up to the position of leaning on her thighs. She looked up and saw her father stood before her, his arms crossed and an amused smile on his face.

"Eavesdropping, were you?" He chuckled and then reached down a hand to Charisse. She placed a hand in his and then her father gently pulled her up.

"I was not _eavesdropping_," Charisse answered, fighting the urge to smile, "I was simply listening to you play the piano. That was such a beauti—"

"Don't change the subject," her father remarked. "You really do not enjoy being stuck in one place, do you." Charisse knew that it was a statement, and not a question. She nodded in agreement.

"I – er, came to apologise."

Her father looked taken aback.

"Whatever for?"

"For frightening Meg," Charisse replied, nervously rubbing an hand down the opposite arm. "As I said before, I was bored, but there's really not that much entertainment around here."

"I am not the one you should be apologising to. It is little Giry who you should be saying sorry to," her father commentated. Suddenly, Charisse found herself being pushed to one of the many exits of their underground lair. "I won't allow you back in here until you do, and I shall know if you have or haven't, because I shall ask her. I know little Giry quite well."

Charisse decided not to question her father on why he was calling Meg _"little Giry"_.

'_I am not looking forward to facing Meg Giry. No doubt she has figured it out by now and I am quite aware of the temper she has on her. Almost as bad as her mother's.'_

**--**

**CHAPTER NINE COMPLETE.**

**Oh, thank god. Phew! So, now you have discovered something about Charisse's mother – but why didn't Erik love her? Let's see if anyone is clever enough to figure it out! If you do figure it out, though, (or you think you've figured it out) please tell me through a PM, not a review. The next chapter will be completely focus on Christine and shall have no Erik or Charisse in it. Unless you want it to. Tell me before I start writing it. Oh, here's some advice to people writing "The Phantom of the Opera" stories: listening to Michael Crawford is _always _good. Also, I got the "Phantom: Love Never Dies" on the 8th of March, the day it came out in here in the UK. Tee-hee. I love it, but it'd be better with Michael Crawford and Sarah Brightman.  
**

**Yunagirlamy, 24.3.10.**


	11. Memory

**Author's Notes: In this chapter, you'll find out more about Christine's son. And NO, he is not Erik's; I'm **_**kind**_** to Raoul (even though I am a ChristinexErik shipper). Also, is it me or are my author's notes getting shorter?Oh, by the way, I hate the title for this story. Can anyone think up any good titles?  
**

**Summary: Christine and Raoul have been married for four years and have a three-year-old son. It is five years after the events at the opera house. But those events come knocking on Christine's door in the form of a teenage girl. Who is she and what link does she have to the past?**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and this storyline.**

**-- is a scene change or a different point of view.**

**Chapter Ten: Memory.**

**--**

Christine sighed as she held a piece of baby clothing. She thought that by bringing it, she would not miss her son all that much – but in truth, it only made her miss him _so_ much, that it hurt. She brought it close to her face and sniffed it. Although he was not a baby anymore, it still smelt exactly like him. Christine felt tears come to her eyes and she wished that she could be, right now, holding her little son in her arms. She would never forget the very first time she held him, which was also when he was named.

--

_Christine lay down on the extravagant bed, exhausted from giving birth only a few hours ago. Raoul sat by her side, smiling, and holding Christine's hand in his own._

"_You did really well, Christine," Raoul praised. "We have a beautiful son." Raoul stood, and walked over to the pale blue bassinet. He rested his hands on the edge and smiled to his sleeping son lying in the bassinet, a blanket covering his small body, and one was also wrapped around him. Raoul, with extreme carefulness, picked up his tiny son and carried him over to the bed. Raoul sat back down his chair, cradling his son in his arms._

"_Christine," Raoul spoke, "I know that you haven't yet held our son." Christine was weak during the labour and it was a miracle that she survived. Being too frail, Christine was not allowed to hold her son as soon as he was born. Although she was devastated, Christine reluctantly obeyed the doctor's order._

"_I want to hold him," Christine murmured, her voice no louder than a whisper. "Please, let me hold him."_

"_Are you sure you can hold him?"_

"_Please!" Christine begged. "I'll need to sit up, though." Raoul nodded and called in a maid and then dismissed her when she had helped Christine. "Can I hold him now, please?" Christine questioned. _

"_Be careful," Raoul advised, handing the baby over to Christine. A grin was upon her face as soon as her son was her in arms. Tears glistened in her blue eyes – one eventually found its way down her cheek. _

_  
"He's… he's so beautiful! He's perfect!" Christine wiped a tear away and let out a small laugh. She could not believe that she had created this tiny being, who would grow up to be an amazing human being. Christine could tell; she didn't need to hope. "But he needs a name." Christine bit her lip and gazed at Raoul – he appeared to be in deep thought. Christine suddenly began to feel very guilty. In all the hype of becoming new parents, they had hardly given any thoughts to names. Most of their time had been devoted to preparing for the baby._

"_We must give him a name!" Christine cried in a hushed tone. _

"_We will, my love," Raoul replied. "It's not as if he won't have a name for—"_

"_Michael," Christine uttered._

"_W-What?" Raoul spluttered. "From where did you draw that name?"_

"_It was my maternal Grandfather's name."_

"_Hmm… I like it." Raoul slipped his arm under Christine's, giving her more support. "Michael de Chagny."_

--

"Christine? Are you okay? You're crying…"

Christine looked up and saw Meg, hovering by the door and her hands clasped together.

"I'm all right, Meg," Christine replied, wiping her tears.

Meg smiled warmly and walked over to Christine. Glancing at the baby clothing, she asked, "Was that _yours_, Christine?"

"No. It was my son's when he was a baby."

Surprised by this revelation, Meg gasped and her smile became a grin. "Oh, _Christine_! You are a _mother_ now? How wonderful!"

"Yes, quite." Being a mother _was_ wonderful, and always would be. "My son is three now. His name is Michael, after my Grandfather."

"Why not after your father, Christine?"

"I don't know," Christine answered. "It just didn't feel right. As if it wasn't with the right man."

"Talking of men, Christine," Meg said, nudging Christine softly with her elbow, "How is Raoul?"

"Raoul is fine," Christine replied, sitting down on the bed, lowering her son's baby clothes to her lap. "But I don't miss Raoul as much as I miss Michael."

"It's probably nothing more than motherly instinct, Christine."

"No… it's not motherly instinct. I can tell, Meg."

"You'll have to bring Michael here one day," Meg suggested, sitting next to Christine. "I'm sure he'd love it."

"Yes," Christine agreed. "Hw would truly be fascinated just by how huge this building is – never mind all the different colours."

There was a few moments silence, and the two friends sat alone with their thoughts, until Meg spoke up.

"Are you and Raoul thinking of having anymore children?"

Christine nodded. "Oh, definitely. But only when Michael is older. It wouldn't be responsible to have a child now."

"Are you not ready for more children yet, Christine?"

"Oh, we're ready, Meg. We just feel that it wouldn't be fair for Michael. He is only a young child and he needs all our attention."

"My god, Christine," said Meg, and she wrapped her arms around Christine, tightly hugging her dear old friend. "You… you're an amazing mother! You want more children but you're thinking of how it would affect your son, and not you!"

Christine smiled and let out a soft laugh. She embraced Meg, too, and eventually, tears were streaming down the two friends' faces. They were not crying for any particular reason, Christine knew it, but their emotions had built up and they needed to let the emotions run free. When they pulled back, their laughter filled the room.

"Oh, Meg! Look at us; both adults and crying our eyes out!"

"We're in private, Christine. We're allowed to."

"You are not anymore…"

Both girls looked to the door from where the voice floated.

"_Mother_!" Meg exclaimed. "How long have you been standing there?"

"I came shortly after you arrived, Meg," Madame Giry informed the two. She walked into the room and stood in front of the two girls. "Your son sounds like a wonderful child, Christine, and I have to agree with my daughter – you _are_ an amazing mother."

Christine grinned; her blue eyes lighting up with happiness. Christine expected it, however. She knew that when her son was the subject of a conversation, it would never be a terrible one.

"By the way, does _he_ know you are here?"

The smile from Christine's face did not fade.

"Who, Erik? Yes, he does. His daughter is the one who brought me here."

Meg suddenly gasped, and Christine could only guess she had remembered something.

"Mother! Do you know what Charisse did? She pretended to be some sort of phantom and scared the life out of me!"

Madam Giry folded her arms over her chest and sighed. "Like father, like daughter," she remarked.

'_I… I never thought of it like that. I should have expected it, really.'_

**--**

**CHAPTER TEN COMPLETE.**

**Yes, I know it was short, but it still gives you something to read. Can anyone guess why Christine's son is named Michael? First person who does gets to decide what happens next chapter! So get reviewing! **

**Yunagirlamy, 8.4.10.**


	12. Strange Woman

**Author's Notes: Believe it or not, watching the 2004 film can be highly inspiring and kick you into updating. So there's some advice for you. **

**Summary: Christine and Raoul have been married for four years and have a three-year-old son. It is five years after the events at the opera house. But those events come knocking on Christine's door in the form of a teenage girl. Who is she and what link does she have to the past?**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and this storyline.**

**-- is a scene change or a different point of view.**

**Chapter Eleven: Strange Woman.**

Charisse walked down the dark corridors of the Opera Populaire, her fingers brushing through her dark hair every so often. When she wasn't messing with her hair, she was crumpling up her dress in her hands and then straightening it out again. Then, when she felt she could walk no more, she bent down onto one knee, undid every single lace on her boots and then, very slowly, did them back up again. However, she did not rise from her position on the floor. With curious green eyes, she looked all around her and, once she was sure she was all alone, she stood up and walked back the way she came. But instead of venturing back to her home, she went to the entrance of the Opera Populaire. The afternoon sun shone through the windows, which Charisse felt on her skin.

She smiled, and with one more look to make sure no one was watching, she ran out the doors. Once out, she looked down – snow was still on the ground, so she knew that she would have to be careful. But for now, she decided to take a much needed walk. The air inside the opera house eventually got too stuffy for Charisse; plus the atmosphere was heavy with unpleasant emotions.

Charisse took a deep breath – and then she ran. She didn't know where she was running to, but she didn't care; she didn't care that people watched her with puzzled expressions upon their faces; she didn't care what her father would if ever he found out; and she _certainly_ didn't care about the rest of the world.

The streets of Paris were truly beautiful – at the least the rich part of it was. Charisse didn't care much for the wealthy part though; she had explored it many times. No, what she wanted to see was the _real_ side of Paris. Where people worked for their money and hope lined the streets for a better life. Charisse was aware that she would be risking diseases and infections, but this did not bother her. She would simply stay away from anybody that looked infected or ill. So Charisse kept on running and running until, eventually, she reached it.

The poor part of Paris.

Charisse looked around in wonderment. It looked _nothing_ like where she had just been. It was crowded, busy, and filthy. It stank of body odour – and yet, Charisse loved it. She absolutely _adored_ it. And then came the pity. The smile fell from her face as she realised these people would _kill_ to have a lifestyle like hers. Rags of clothes hung off their stick thin bodies, their hair was dishevelled and greasy and even though she couldn't actually hear it, Charisse was sure they were crying out for help.

And then she felt angry.

Angry at their supposed God who was watching over them. Charisse wasn't sure before if there really was a God or not – but now she was one-hundred percent certain that there was _no_ God! If there _were_ a God, then all these poor people would be clean, have food, and be free of diseases and infections.

Charisse pointed a finger upwards and glared at the sky. "This is proof that you are not real! And _so_ help me, if you _are_ real, you should not look forward to when _I _come up there!" She then softened her gaze as she looked once more at the people pounded by poverty.

Charisse felt the odd one out and was aware of how much she was standing out in the crowd. People were already staring at her.

"You're out of your neck of the woods, aren't you, love?"

Charisse, startled, turned to where the female voice had come from. The female was only a tiny bit taller than Charisse. Her skin was pale and completely clean. Her brown hair was up in tight bun with a few strands of hair loose. Her green eyes were staring with wonderment upon Charisse. One hand was on her hip and the other was a holding a basket containing fruits and vegetables.

"Pardon?"

The woman rolled her eyes and laughed softly. "Have you lost your parents or something? You've wandered a bit far, haven't you?"

"Parent," Charisse automatically corrected.

"Ohh, I _see_. Mother or father?"

"Erm, father," Charisse answered, feeling uneasy. Why did this total stranger want to know? Charisse decided to be nosey. "Who's the basket for?" The woman seemed taken aback by the question.

"Hmm? Oh, it's for my mistress."

So _that's_ why the woman was clean – she was a maid!

"So what's your name, sweetheart?"

"Who wants to know?" Charisse questioned.

The woman let out a laugh. "Of course. I'm Alita."

"Don't you have a surname?"

"I don't like my surname," Alita answered solemnly.

"Oh," Charisse said. "I'm Charisse Muhlheim."

Alita's green eyes widened at this revelation. "D-Did you say, Muhlheim?"

"Yes, I'm positive that's what I said. Why, what's wrong with my surname?" Charisse frowned and crossed her arms. This 'Alita' (if that was even her name) was becoming quite suspicious. Charisse noticed that Alita was avoiding eye contact with her.

"Well… there's…" There was a long silence. Charisse hardened her gaze. Alita suddenly grinned. "_Nothing_ wrong with your surname! Absolutely nothing!" Charisse could tell she was obviously faking her happiness – after all, Charisse _had_ spent ten years watching people perform on stage. She could definitely tell the difference between acting and not acting.

"What's your father's name?" Alita questioned.

"Erik," Charisse replied, and quite quickly too. Once she realised she had, she mentally scolded herself. She knew if her father were here, he would have probably slapped her.

"Erik, did you say?" Alita now sounded a bit… frightened. Charisse studied the woman in curiosity – she _did_ look like someone she knew. But _who_? But before Charisse could work it out, Alita suddenly turned and ran. Charisse gasped in surprise and could only stare after her as she ran. Eventually, she disappeared from Charisse's line of vision.

She was confused. _Very_ confused. Why did her father's name strike fear in the woman? Perhaps she knew that her father was the Phantom. Nearly everyone in Paris (and probably in the whole of France) knew that her father was the Phantom. But then… no one who didn't personally know her father knew his actual name. Charisse decided she would ask her father about it later – surely he had to know this strange woman. She certainly knew him.

"Charisse! What are you doing _here_?"

Charisse winced. There was no mistaking _that_ voice. She turned round to face Madam Giry, who was stood there with her arms crossed and a stern expression worn upon her face.

"I have been looking all over for you. So has your father!"

Charisse swore underneath her breath. "Out… here?"

"No, he thinks you're hiding somewhere in the theatre."

A wave of relief washed over Charisse.

"If you hurry, you can make it back to the opera house without your father ever knowing you went out in the first place. Anyway, from what I have heard, you _were_ supposed to be apologising to my Meg for scaring her."

Charisse smiled sheepishly and then walked past Madam Giry, who walked close behind her. Whilst walking back to the opera house, Charisse started to think about how Madam Giry was always there for her, even if it was protecting her from her father's anger when she was younger.

_A four-year-old Charisse ran down the halls of the Opera Populaire, going as fast as her little legs would take her. Her brown hair trailed down her back; her green filled with tears. Her face was red and tear-ridden. She didn't look back – she didn't dare to look back, too stricken by fright and terror. She ran and ran until she reached her destination: the ballet mistress's room. Fortunately for Charisse, the door was already open, so she just ran in._

_As usual (when there weren't ballet rehearsals) Madam Giry was in there. She was standing and reading a note._

_Charisse wrapped herself round Madam Giry's legs and then started to sob._

_Francene Giry glanced down in surprise, and then, seeing Charisse, threw the note onto her bed and knelt down to comfort Charisse. The poor child was bawling uncontrollably and was obviously much traumatised. She wrapped her arms around the young girl, and whispered soothing things to her, whilst stroking her hair. She was about to ask what was wrong, when a furious voice cried out._

"_Charisse! Get here – NOW!"_

_Francene looked up and saw Erik enter the room. His face was red with fury and was breathing heavily, absolutely fuming. Francene noticed that Erik was holding a thick leather belt in his right hand, and frowned. Surely Erik was not planning to use that on his child?_

_Francene stood up and pushed Charisse behind her. Charisse tightly grabbed onto Francene's skirt and glanced fearfully up at her father._

"_Madam, hand that little demon over to me!" Erik demanded._

_Francene placed her hands on her hips. "I will do no such thing. I will not give her to you whilst you are in such a mood. What is it that she has done for you to act in this way?"_

"_It matters not! She needs to be punished greatly and I intent to deliver it!"_

"_Erik, I am not going to let you harm your child! Now, tell me what she has done!"_

_Erik ran a hand down the unmarred side of his face and sighed deeply. "I was working on some music – changing it here and there. When I finally thought it was suitable, I left it alone on top of my piano. I went somewhere to do something of great importance, and when I came back, my composition was gone. So I went to her," Erik spat the last word out and pointed a finger at Charisse, who shrank back behind Francene's legs, "room. I found her lying on the floor, drawing on a piece of paper. When I snatched the paper from her, I saw that it was my composition! She has drawn over one of my masterpieces!"_

_Francene only rolled her eyes and sighed. Erik considered nearly every composition a masterpiece. But it was not a good reason to punish his daughter in the way he was wishing to. Francene took hold of Charisse's hand and started to walk towards Erik, but Charisse tugged her back, firmly refusing to move. The child was well and truly terrified. So Francene stayed where she was._

"_She is only four-years-old, Erik. She cannot tell the difference between a composition and just a piece of paper. If anything, she was being quite smart. Young children tend to draw on the walls, but Charisse knew she shouldn't, and so used the first piece of paper she came across." Francene looked down to Charisse, who only timidly nodded her head in confirmation. _

"_But it was not just any piece of paper! It was one of my greater compositions!" Erik nearly rushed forward to grab Charisse, but Francene held up a hand to stop him._

"_If it is such a great piece as you claim, then it can be surely written again. Did she draw over all of the music?"_

_Erik looked down and sighed. "No, just over the top and the middle."_

"_And can you see most of the notes through her drawing?"_

"… _Yes."_

"_Well, then there is no need for you to be quite so angry. Instead of yelling and screaming at her, which is what I imagine you did, you only needed to scold her. I will show you." Francene turned around; knelt down onto one knee and then softly placed her hands on Charisse's arms. "Charisse, drawing on your father's work was very wrong and naughty."_

"_I know," Charisse replied with a cracked voice._

"_And if you do it again, you father will discipline you," Francene said. She turned her head to glance at Erik. The look on his face was if he was just realising how upset Charisse really was and then, a few moments later, he dropped the belt on the floor. Charisse said nothing as more tears made their way down her face. She may have only been four, but she knew what the word discipline meant. "So you need to apologise to your father for drawing on his work and promise him that you'll never do it again." _

_Francene stood up; took Charisse's hand in her own and guided Charisse over to Erik. Francene stood back, waiting for the scene to unfold. A few seconds later, it did. Charisse ran to her father, and wrapped her arms around his legs, crying out "Sorry!" repeatedly. Erik picked Charisse up and wrapped his arms around her small body. _

_As father and daughter stood hugging in silent apology, Francene Giry observed the scene and smiled. _

A smile had worked its way onto Charisse's face, and then suddenly, she felt very eager to hurry back to the opera house. Walking faster, she heard the complaint of Madam Giry behind her.

"Child, if I was younger, I would be able to keep up with you!"

Charisse could only giggle and then she broke into a run. She knew it was improper of her to do so, but then again, Charisse was _not_ a normal girl of society. She was incredibly more intelligent. Not necessarily in logic, but in how people should be treated and so on.

Upon eventually arriving at what Charisse called home, she quickly rushed in and was thankful to see that no one was in the entrance. That way, her father would be clueless that she _ever_ went outside. Charisse did not know _why_ she was not allowed outside, but for now, that question could wait.

She had other things to take care of.

'_Now it's only a matter of finding Meg – and hopefully, I will not run into my father.'_

**CHAPTER ELEVEN COMPLETE.**

**Well, I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter. I must say, this is certainly one of my favourite chapters. It was fun to write and I worked through most of it very quickly. I also had some help from a very amazing friend of mine (you know who you are), so thank you. Please review.**

**Yunagirlamy, 28.4.10.**


	13. That Damned Girl

**Author's Notes: I've started college now which means I'll be getting EMA, which is about £30 a week. I'll be able to see Phantom! And hopefully the sequel as well. Well, enough dreaming. On with the story. **

**Summary: Christine and Raoul have been married for four years and have a three-year-old son. It is five years after the events at the opera house. But those events come knocking on Christine's door in the form of a teenage girl. Who is she and what link does she have to the past?**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and this storyline.**

**Chapter Twelve: That Damned Girl.**

Erik sat down with a sigh at his piano and lifted his fingers onto the keys. For a few moments, there was naught but silence in the air. Then, Erik closed his eyes – and a _beautiful_ tune drifted from Erik's fingers and echoed onto the walls.

Erik had not yet thought of a name for this piece, but that did not matter right now. What mattered was finding the right voice; and only one voice satisfied Erik.

The voice of an _angel_. The voice of _his_ angel. Only Christine could perfect the tune. However, it could not be denied that Charisse had a beautiful voice (well, she was _his_ daughter) but it simply could not compete with a voice as angelic as Christine's. But maybe Charisse could be trained to have that of the voice of an angel too.

Erik was so deep in thought that he did not notice Madam Giry entering the lair and walking up behind him. He was only was only alerted of her presence when she spoke.

"Erik, _where_ is your girl? I wish to speak with her."

Erik turned round with a sigh. "It seems that she cannot do right by _any_one today. She has gone to apologise to your Meg."

"Well, Meg has not seen her. How long ago was it that Charisse went?"

"About fifteen minutes ago…" Erik stood up as he realised something. "But Charisse knows this theatre like the back of her hand. She would have realised that wherever Christine is, Meg would probably be with her. And Christine is in her room still unpacking."

"That would have taken Charisse less than fifteen minutes to get there," Madam Giry remarked. Then, making Madam Giry jump, Erik suddenly slammed his fist down onto his piano – his face was red and his teeth were clenched.

"_Blast_ that damned girl! One day, she _will_ do as she's told!" and with that, Erik stormed out of the lair, determined to find Charisse. He wouldn't hit her but he would certainly scold her – and quite angrily too. Then he would drag Charisse to Little Giry and make her apologise, even if she did not want to.

Whilst he stormed around the halls of the Opera Populaire, a frightening thought popped into his head.

What if Charisse had gone outside? He could not protect her if she was out there. It was true that he would die for her, but not even for Charisse would he venture outside. For Christine, however, he would not hesitate. He had already been outside for her once already—

—Damn it! Why was Christine in his thoughts, when it should have been Charisse? He was supposed to be focusing on finding her. Instead, he found himself stood still by the dressing rooms. Why was he here? He knew that Christine's room was not that far from here… and then it clicked. Maybe Christine could help him search for his daughter. He was not doubtful that Christine would decline his suggestion. Christine was certainly trying to make friends with Charisse; Charisse was the one who was making no effort, not even to like Christine. Erik had no idea of why Charisse hated Christine, but he was determined to find out – perhaps he could amend the problem? He would have loved nothing more then Charisse and Christine be comfortable in the presence of each others' company.

"Erik?"

He whirled round, only to gaze upon the face of his angel.

"Christine," he breathed. "I am glad you are here. Charisse has gone missing and—"

"—you want me to help you find her?" Christine enquired, tipping her head to one side with her curls gently smacking against her face.

Erik nodded. "Would you?"

Christine took a step closer—and then, staring up at her with a smile that warmed Erik's heart, she grasped his hands in her. Erik drew a sharp intake of breath and began to breathe faster. Why was an angel sent to test him like this? Erik knew that it was not lust, though. No, what he felt was _love_. He even admitted it to her.

Christine stood her tip-toes, rested her head on his shoulder and whispered in his ear: "I would love nothing more then to… Erik." She drew her face back, but keeping it close to Erik's.

Erik looked into her beautiful blue eyes and saw no trace of fright.

The pair leaned forward, their noses nearly touching – their lips, however, were closer. Christine put her hands around Erik's neck and pulled him closer to her. They closed their eyes and ever so slowly, they tilted their heads in opposite directions. Just a bit closer… Erik could feel Christine's soft lips on his malformed ones already.

They were _ever_ so close, when…

"_Father!_"

The two sprang apart, surprised by their new guest.

Erik turned around; he found Charisse standing there with her hands on her hips and a mix between confusion and anger planted on her young face. Her brunette hair was no longer curled, but instead, in a mess of straight, long locks.

"What are you _doing_?" Charisse demanded with such ferocity that it angered Erik and he whirled around, setting a stony glare upon Charisse. However, she didn't shrink back under his stare.

"_Where_ have _you_ been?" Erik replied with the same amount of rage. "You were supposed to be apologising to Me—"

"—if I remember correctly, _Father_," Charisse interrupted, rolling her eyes, "_I_ was the one who wanted me to apologise to Meg. So I think if I should do it when _I _want, not when _you_ want!"

"Don't you talk back to me, _girl_!" Erik yelled, pointing a finger in Charisse's face. "That is _enough_ of your insolence!" However, Charisse didn't seem threatened. She simply raised her eyebrows and wrinkled her nose.

"Charisse?" came Christine's sweet voice from behind Erik. Charisse crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes when Christine walked up to the young girl, filling the space between Charisse and Erik. "You should be more respectful to your father, for you never know how long it is until you lose him."

Surprisingly, Charisse only laughed.

"The only thing I'm going to lose him from is heartbreak, which will, undeniably, be _your_ fault, Miss Daaé."

"Don't talk to Christine that way!"

"I'll talk to her how I like!" Charisse countered. "_I _brought her here, which means she is _my_ guest!"

"And you are _my_ daughter, which means you obey what I tell you!"

"Oh! So you still actually _acknowledge _me as your daughter then?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You know _damn_ well what it means!"

Erik was nearing to the point of gouging his eyes out—this girl was absolutely driving him _mental_! Why did she have to grow up into a teenager? Why couldn't she just skip past her teenage years and go right ahead into her adulthood?

"Just… just apologise to Meg," Erik ordered, his teeth gritted together.

Charisse crossed her arms and defiantly answered, "_No_."

That was the last straw. "Charisse, you are _this_ close to my hand meeting your backside!"

"Oh yes, because physical discipline is the way forward, isn't it, Father?"

"It is where you're concerned!" Erik sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was bad enough that Charisse was talking to him in this manner—now his imperfect face was rubbing against his mask and irritating him. "Why can't you be a lovely girl like Christine?"

_SLAP!_

Erik opened his eyes and found that Christine was no longer in front of him; instead, she was on the floor, cradling a sore right cheek. With fire in his eyes, Erik looked up at Charisse – her nostrils were flaring, her arms were crossed and her eyes were narrowed into little slits directed at Christine.

Erik immediately knelt down to tend to Christine, and wrapped his arms around her, bringing her close to his chest. He opened his mouth to speak, but Charisse got there before he could.

"_That_, I believe, Miss Daaé was the shattered chandelier that you were expecting."

Erik ignored her for the time part; he would interrogate her about it later. "Christine, my angel, are you okay?"

Christine smiled at him. "I'm fine, Erik."

Erik smiled back, and then he noticed Charisse walking away. "Stop right there," he snarled. "I shall deal with you in a minute." To his surprise, Charisse just carried on walking. Erik let out a growl and turned his attention back to Christine.

"What are you going to do to Charisse?" Christine asked with a soft voice.

Erik sighed. "I… honestly do not know. Any punishment I have given her has not made her relent." Suddenly, Erik felt something soft and gentle on his forearm. He looked down; Christine had placed her hand there.

"Please, do not hurt her. Physical discipline is not the way to deal with a child. I would never hurt my son."

Erik stiffened. _What_? Christine… had a _son_? With _that_ prissy man? Since _when_? "You have a son?" Erik enquired. "What is his name?"

"Michael," Christine answered, a smile on her face. "He is my little boy and I would do anything for him." Christine's eyes travelled up to Erik. "Would _you_ do anything for Charisse?"

"Yes," Erik replied without hesitation.

_Even if she is acting a little strange and unlike her normal self…_

**CHAPTER TWELVE COMPLETE.**

**I know it seems like the story isn't really going anywhere, but trust me, it is. I have a big thing lined up; I just have to figure out how to actually get there. A new character shall be entering, one that Erik shall take an extreme disliking to. Why? Well… that's for to know and for you to find out. **

**Yunagirlamy, 30.9.10.**


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